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MOSS AGATES. 



P 



TO MY COMRADES 

OF THE GRAND ARMY OF THE REPUBLIC 

AND TO MY BROTHER MEMBERS OF 

THE WYOMING BAR THIS LITTLE 

VOLUME OF POEMS IS 

RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED 

BY y^ 

Wesley Philemon Carroll. 




1890. 

DAILY SUN BOOK AND JOB ROOMS. 
CHEYENNE, WYO. 



TS 



a4o 



CtM^ 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1890, by 

WESLEY PHILEMON CARROLL, 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington, D. C. 



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WES1.EY PHILEMON CARROLL, 



CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

Engraving^ — The Author 5 

Preface 13 

Crossing The Prairie 15 

Little Ida 16 

Engraving (I>ittle Ida) 17 

A Future Roll Call. 20 

Ellen Searle Carter 28 

Engraving (Ellen Searle Carter) 29 

Death of George H. Sawyer , 33 

The Stone at The Corner 36 

To The Pennsy Ivanians 38 

Follow Me 41 

The Carnival Carol 43 

The Girl Guards 59 

Little Eva 63 

Mansfield's Last Ride 65 

Hand In Hand 70 



O CONTENTS. 

The Angel Who Came, Etc 72 

Clasp Hands Alike With Blue and Gray 76 

The Union Pacific 79 

The B. & M 81 

Little Walt 82 

Not a Final Adjovn-nment 84 

Bojs, Don't Call Me a Cripple To-Night 88 

We Welcome You 92 

The Few For The Many 98 

Almost At The Top 102 

The Hoodlum's Saturday Night 107 

Where Is My Wandering Girl, Etc 109 

Around The Camp Fire 112 

The Twin Sisters 113 

Dead Heroes 118 

Midnight in The Voiceless City 121 

The Corner Stone 1 26 

Our Little Frankie 127 

Gathering Flowers 130 

Patriot Soldiers 133 

Beyond The Twilight 137 

The Old Pipe 139 

The Old Commander 144 

The Old Church 147 

Newark Street 153 

The Great Spirit's Face is Dark 155 



CONTENTS. 



9 



Little Mac 156 

The Dear Old Cradle 157 

The Contingent Fund 163 

In The Soup 167 

Emancipation Day 168 

Goodbj^e, Old Town 170 

Come To The Bal Masque 171 

A Hymn... 175 

Not Gone Forever 177 

The Old American House 180 

The Retrospect 186 

Coming Home From School 191 

The Cheyenne & Northern R. R 195 

Bethlehem's Martjr 197 

Mamma Was Tired and Went to Sleep 200 

The Round-Up Foreman 204 

Helen C. Knight 207 

Moshier's Lament 209 

To a Young Lady 214 

Bunny „ 216 

Cherokee Bob's Battle 218 

Little Ray 220 

Miss Wyoming To Uncle Sam 222 

Uncle Johnnie ^ 226 

Isle Seventeen 227 

Memories of the Past 229 



lO CONTENTS. 

Nellie At The Gate 232 

Grover and Frances 234 

Marion (iray 240 

The Children 243 

The Cheyenne S/oi 244 

Baby Towse 245 

Two Little Boys 246 

Custer and The Three Hundred 247 

A New Year's Vision 252 



PREFACE. 



The author^of this little volume of poems has only to 
say regarding them that thev contain "more truth than 
poetry." Not professing to be a poet, he has nevertheless 
from time to time hastily composed the productions con- 
tained in this book; but this has been a mere incidental 
matter with him. Very many of the poems herein con- 
tained have been prepared by request and for some par- 
ticular occasion. Others were composed impromptu, 
and' in this category are "The Old Pipe;" "Goodbye, Old 
Town;" "Don't Call Me a Cripple," "A New Year's 
Vision," Etc., Etc. Several of these poems'were written 
at a time when the author was so nearly blind that he was 
unable to read his own manuscript, and the result has 
been that their construction is unsatisfactory even to the 
author himself. 

Quite a number of poems heretofore [published have 
necessarily been ommitted, the author finding when too 



14 PREFACE. 

late that space was too limited to contain them. Of these 
there are some obituary poems — one of which relates to 
a member of the author's own family, now dead and gone. 

The poems are not arranged in the order in which 
thev were written, some of the first being among the last 
in the book and vice versa. 

No attempt is made in these productions at anything 

profound or witty, and nothing in the way of blank verse 

even has found a place in this book — simple in language 

and construction, yet all based upon something tangible, 

these poems are given to the public with hesitation and 

diffidence by 

The Author. 



ACROSS THE PRAIRIE. 



ACROSS the prairie, years ago 
Through the sloiig-hs and over the snow 
Side by side and friends for a day, 
T\vo were journeying on the way. 

Across the prairie still they go 
Through the sloughs and over the snow ; 
One to the east — to the west the other — 
Over the prairie of life forever. 

Across the prairie — 'tis a journey long — 
Sorrow e'er mingled with mirth and song, 
Where " hopes and fears alternate blend — " 
Life the journey and death the end. 



1 6 MOSS AGATES. 



LITTLE IDA. 

[Ida Riner.] 



A QUERY. 

LITTLE one sweet, from whence did you come? 
Tell me truly now, where is your home? 
Here on the earth, or is it afar. 
Way up in yon sky where the cherubs are? 

Are you from a home where nymyhs of light 
E'er dwell and sing with the angels bright? 
How could they spare you, sweet little one — 
Are they not lonesome while you are gone? 

Where is your papa, and mamma, too? 
Are they up there — do they live with you? 
Pray, sweet one, tell me whence did you come — 
Tell me truly, now, where is your home? 
Here on the earth, or away up there 
Beyond the sky, with the angels fair? 




LITTLE IDA (Ida Riner.) 



LITTLE IDA. 

LITTLE Ida's answer. 

I turn 'ite from home, and my mamma 
Is dest as dood as the angels are. 
They is her sisters — I dess I know. 
Dod's my mamma's papa — she told me so. 

And ffiy papa is the bestest man — 
I love him dest as hard as I can. 
He'd hate you awfully if he knew 
What you said to me, I dest tell you. 

Where my home is it is dest as sweet 
As where most all of the angels meet — 
My home where papa and mamma is livin', 
I dess — well, I dess 'tis a part of Heaven. 



20 MOSS AGATES, 



A FUTURE ROLL CALL. 



[Read Decoration Day, 1887.] 

THERE is a life that men may live, 
Which to posterity shall give 
An heritage of priceless worth, 
More noble than a royal birth. 
There is a death which men may die. 
When loud rings Freedom's battle cry ; 
Where unseen hands write " Honer, fame, 
To these are due," above each name. 

Men have not lived nor died in vain 

Who at their country's call awoke, 
And marched to fall on crimson plain; 

Whose souls went up through battle smoke 
When Liberty imperiled stood 

With thearful eye, where heroes fell 
To save her, pouring out their blood 

In war and death's dread carnival. 



A FUTURE ROLL CALL. 21 

Ere this a monument has been 
Dedicated by you, to men 
Who bravely fought, and periled life 
In that long, fratricidal strife. 
They died, and on yon hill repose, 
Unmindful now of friends and foes. 
And may that monument of stone 

E'er rise, through the long interlude, 
From now till time shall totter on 

The staffs of gray discrepitude. 

But monuments we build in air. 

In honor of our heroes dead. 
May crumble, and no vestige there 

Be left around, or overhead. 
To mark the spot " where sleep the brave," 

Who perished for a nation's life; 
Who all that men can give^ they gave 

On red, historic fields of strife. 

What tribute cmi a nation give 

To those who for their country die? 

Though gone, still in the heart they live. 
While years, and decades swift roll by. 

7 his record none can e'er efface; 
Nor shall the flight of time corrode 



2 2 MOSS AGATES. 

The monuments which men may i^lace 
In memory o'er their last abode. 

As comrades of those who are mustVing o'er, 
'Neath the pahn tree shade on the twihght shore, 
Who, reaching the outposts, one by one. 
True countersigns gave to the picket wan — 
And I think now I hear it — their echoless tramp, 
As thev cross o'er the bridge to the mystery camp. 
We have gathered tonight, though a broken band 
Of veterans, who fought to preserve the land. 
In spirit to pause by each little mound. 
Where the dust of a comrade lies 'neath the ground. 

Pansies, from nature's ample breast, 
We scatter where the heroes rest; 
Emblems of an unchanging love. 
Which, b©rn on earth, reaches above. 
Their mem'ries we perpetuate. 
And lay this tribute at their shrine 
Each year, 'til Father Time shall date 
Ou7' muster on the mystic line. 

Where Johnson sleeps we listless stand ; 
Pause by the side of Van De Sande. 
From Poulton's mound we silent draw 
'Round Bryant's grave, by Ollerenshaw; 



A FUTURE ROLL CALL. 23 

Where Lynot, Fritz and Ryan lay, 
Creegan and Roberts, until day 
wShall dawn, and where Russell, Leffler, 
Smith and Whipple sleep, and Taylor, 
And all the rest; we strew each grave 
With flowers for the slumb'ring brave. 

Sometimes futurity's thin veil 

Is lifted, like the ocean mists 
When on its bosom sweeps the gale, 

And men behold what ne'er exists. 
So we to-night may look beyond — 

E'en list to roll calls yet uncalled; 
And countermarch upon the ground 

Where souls from dust are disenthralled, 
And naught but ashes, lowly laid. 

Rest 'neath the soil whereon we tread. 

The fleeting years speed fast away; 

Yet on each Decoration Day 

I see you marching, stein and slow; 

Out there upon the hill you go 

In silence and with measured tread. 

To pay this tribute to the dead. 

How fast they fly! And now a score 
Of years have passed, yet on the shore 



24 



MOSS AGATES. 



Of time, here lingering, you stand. 

I see you there, a little band 

Of gray-haired men, fast growing old- — 

For waves of time have o'er you rolled — 

Responding there to the roll call ; 

But no — some answer, yet not all. 

Two score, at length, of fleeting years 
Have come and gone 'mid smiles and tears. 
A feeble band. I see you now, 
With furrowed cheek and wrinkled brow; 
Though steps uncertain, still you tramp 
Up to that silent, voiceless camp. 
Roll call again; but heard are few 
Responses now from men in blue. 

Three score years — but not the ten 

Roll by; and on that hill shall then 

A lone, old man be seen to stand — 

With whitened locks, and staff in hand. 

Through winter's storm and summer's heat, 

A century wave rolls at his feet. 

He peers, while tottering o'er the ground. 

At the headstone by ev'ry mound. 

He speaks: "Yes, yes; I knew him well. 

With faltering voice, "and when those shell 



A FUTURE ROLL CALL. 25 

Came thick and fast on Shiloh's field, 
He swore we not an inch must yield 
If ^ve died there. But who is this 
I see? 'Twas in the Wilderness 
This one fought bravely by my side. 
'Tis thirty years now since he died." 

Yes, three score years, but not the ten. 
Shall one by one roll by ; and then 
Will called and caller both be one, 
With life's long march so nearly done; 
While glistens in his eye a tear. 
That lone old man will answer " here." 
All else shall but his voice be still 
At that last roll call on the hill. 

But here I pause — there's something yet — 

Born of the sword and bayonet, 

For Freedom, adamantine throned, 

Each error of the past atoned. 

Sits on a rock-ribbed mountain height^ • 

And 'tis of this I speak to-night. 

That, w^hile time tov/ard the future runs. 

The valor of Columbia's sons — 

These of the North, those of the South — 

Who fell when belched the cannons mouth 



26 MOSS AGATES. 

With furnace flame, and shot and shell 
Which shrieked and moaned as heroes fell, 
By us forgotten ne'er shall be 
Through time, nor in eternity. 

What, though the cause of one was right. 
The other wrong — yet in the light 
Our foeman had they thought 'twas good. 
And for it freely shed their blood. 

'Tis over now. Brothers again. 
In North and vSouth patriot men 
Clasp hands above the silent dead. 
On fields wherein their blood was shed ; 
And up beyond the vision's sweep. 
Where death's pale reaper ne'er shall reap. 
Where flowers blush in immortal bloom, 
On fields where contests never come; 
There, side by side, they march to-day. 
True heroes, robed in blue and gray. 
These of the North, those of the South, 
Who perished at the cannon's mouth 
When dawning the tnte natal morn. 
Freedom, thrice purified, was born. 

Yes, blue and gray, these still in life 
With those who fell in battle strife, 



A FUTURE ROI.T. CAI.T.. 27 

Have not in Liberty's domain 

For or against it fought in vain. 

Antl may the valor of the bhie 

And gray, e'er be to me and you 

One stanza in our freedom song, 

Which sung shall keep the Union strong. 

And to-night on the shore by the mystery ever- 
glade. 
Where the shadowy legions are forming in line, 
And the w^an guidon rides on the flank of the cav- 
alcade. 
They are waving a signal — a mystical sign. 
And like that which spoke downward from Ken- 
saw's gray summit 
To Corse when he fought the encircling host. 
It bids us in all the life storms which we buffet, 
Be steadfast in purpose and true to each trust. 

Yes, there's a life that men may live. 
Which to posterity shall give 
An heritage of priceless worth — 
More noble than a royal birth. 
And there's a death which men may die. 
When sounds tneir country's battle cry, 
Where unseen hands write "Honor, fame. 
To these are due," above each name. 



28 MOSS AGATES. 



ELLEN SEARLE CARTER. 



[The lady whose name appear^ above, and whose por- 
trait is here given, died more than twenty years ago, at 
Augusta, Wisconsin. Her life was a most beautiful one, 
and when the author visited Augusta shortly after her 
death, he discovered that a sentiment akin to reverence 
was prevalent among the people regarding her. Even old 
lumbermen, with tears in their eyes, declared that no per- 
son equal in puritj' of life, character and example to Ellen 
Searle had ever lived in the State of Wisconsin. Less 
than a year prior to her death she was married to Ira 
Carter, Esq., (now of Nevada). Her daughter, who was 
but a few days old when her mother died, (Mrs. S. Pog- 
nette, nee Miss Edith V. Carter), resides but a short dis- 
tance from Augusta, as does also her half sister. Miss 
Nellie Carter, for the husband of Ellen Searle married a 
second time, and his second wife dying also he went to 
the Pacific coast years ago and has never since been back 
to his old home.] 

1SAW tlicc not, yet of thy life I heard, 
And unto mine some potent thoughts it gave 




ELLEN SEARLE CARTER. 



ELLEN SEARLE CARTER. 3 1 

Which have e'er since my heart and bosom stirred, 
And they shall linger with me 'till I reach the 
grave. 

Thou wast a bride, and then the bride of death; 

That life, which had such power to move the 
heart. 
Went out; and at its last expiring breath 

Another came, of thine to be the counterpart. 

By fair Augusta's peaceful Sylvan shade, 

Where e'en Beauty's Goddess might forever 
dwell, 
Thy grave, thy final earthly home was made, 
And on that mound so sacred tears unnumbered 
fell. 

Well might they weep, all that knew or heard of 
thee — 
Thy life to them was e'er a guiding star. 
E'en paled before thy presence in eternity 

Were angel lives which met thee at the "gates 
ajar." 

And like Him who died in Calv'ry's holy strife, 
Thy work while here was done in peace and 
love; 



32 MOSS AGATES. 

And the sweet, pathetic beauty of thy b"fe 

Whispers to us of higher, better things above. 

Sleep ! Sleep on ! by fair Augusta's fields of green ; 

Nor shall these earthly cares thy slumber break. 
Thou canst not sleep forever all unseen — 

The morn w^ill come w^hen thou once more .to 
us shall wake. 



DEATH OF GEO. H. SAWYER. 



(ieo .H. Sawjer, a young man well and favorably known 
liere in Chej'enne, died recently in Seattle, W. T., being at 
the time of his death business manager of one of the papers 
published in that city. While here deceased became 
acquainted with Miss Eva B. Morrow, a most estimable 
lady and devoted Christian, and knowing that she was at 
Vhatcom, loo miles north of Seattle, he, in his brief ill- 
ness, kept calling for her to come. His friends wrote to 
her and she answered by telegraph that she would come, 
but on the way down the bay that night the steamer on 
which Miss Morrow was a passenger ran upon a sandbar 
and was detained several hours. When she reached 
Seattle the next day young vSawyer was dead. Deceased 
has a mother and sister in the east. The following lines 
were dedicated to the members of the Seattle Typograph- 
ical Union, who cared for him during his last illness. 



I A At COMIXtJ 







'ER fair Seattle the night hung low, 

And the glin-imering lights on the street were 
dim 



While a stranger lay d\ ing, and to and fro 
By his bedside stalked the harvester grim. 
2 



34 



MOSS AGATES. 



He had drifted afar from the homestead old ; 

A wanderer out in a stranger land, 
No mother could come e'er the heart grew cold 

And no sister could clasp that thin, white hand. 

But there was one who might take their place; 

He had called her name and they bade her 
come 
For in days that vycre passed, to the Throne of 
Grace 

This one had guided the wanderer home. 
'Twas a brief dispatch : " I am commg," it read, 

'Twas received as the sun sank into the west. 
" I will come on the first south boat," she said. 

And the words brought comfort and peace and 
rest. 
l>ut stranded tiiat night (lie steamer la}- 

Wherc breakers were, heard by the leeward 
shore, 
On the sandbars up in the Whatcom Bay, 

That baflle the skill and tlic pilots lore. 
And the looked for angel of peace and light, 

So fain to haste to the stranger's side, 
ITer yigil kept through the sleepless night. 

Till the boat swung: loose with the rising tide. 
'Tvyas a voyage in vain, for the reaper pale 



DliATH OF GEO. H. SAWYER. 35 

His victim claimed e'er the''boal came in. 
And his spirit had entered the twiUght vale 

Emancipated from pain and sin; 
And she who came on the mission^of peace 

Could only for him shed the silent tear, 
Not alone for the soul that had found release, 

But for absent ones w^hom his heart held dear. 
There 's a home far off on the mystic lea. 

Where mother and sister and friend shall meet 
With him who has sailed o'er the tideless sea, 

And is waiting to-day, their coming to greet; 
And no bark this side ever stranded lay, 

Nor are breakers e'er heard by the leeward 
shore, 
And the pilot that sails in the Whatcom Bay 

Here never would need his skill and lore. 




7,6 MOSS AGATES, 



THE STONE AT THE CORNER. 



[New Episcopal Church, Cheyenne.] 

MEN cannot build enduring blocks 
That shall withstand the cyclone shocks 
Of time, as they relentlessly beat 
Agfainst their walls and 'round their feet. 
Though century vigils they may keep 
While generations smile and weep, 
Yet an unseen corroding breath 
E'en unto these shall whisper, death. 

What are the grandest works of men, 
Which, m the ages past, have been 
Reared 'neath the vault of Heaven's blue arch, 
And thickly dot the centuries' march. 
They e'er have been, and still shall be 
Those temples, where God's peoele see 
The Heavenward way, where oft they raise 
The voice in chants of sacred praise. 



THE STONE AT THE CORNER. 37 

This stone, in part, shall testify 

That this proud structure, builded high 

Here on this sacred virgin sod 

Shall dedicated be to God. 

Here wisdom's words shall oft be spoke, 

And oft the ^' bread of life'' be broke; 

vSemi-angelic voices sing 

The glories of the prince and king; 

And mourners here shall bow the head 

In sorrow, for their cherished dead; 

While bride and groom here, hand in hand, 

vShall bv its chancel window stand. 

Roll, decades, roll in ceaseless train, 
While centuries come and go agam. 
But cast not down, as mouldering dust. 
This temple we to you entrust. 
May it withstand the storms and wind 
Which from the clouds of Heaven decend, 
'Til time from age walks slow the way, 
Its ample locks grown thin and gray. 




38 MOSS AGATES. 



TO THE PENNSYLVANIANS. 



[At the Cheyenne Opera House, July .1886.] 

E welcome you here at the mountains' gate, 
And extend unto each the fraternal hand, 
Fair daughters, brave sons of the Keystone state 

As westward you speed to the golden strand. 
Though away out here on this alkali plain 

And have gathered from every clime and shore, 
We with you in spirit recall again 

Proud records, that live forever more. 

And we think of the men who marched in the van. 

From the land where the glistening Schuylkill 
flows. 
Heroes and patriots, every man 

Who, at the first call, to arms arose; 
And our hearts still throb with emotion strong 

For your noble women and men of God, 
For no Union soldier, in four years long, 

Ever hungry tramped south from the Keystone 
sod. 



TO THE PENNSYLVANIANS. 39 

Pennsylvania men npon every field 

Freely shed their blood for this country's life, 
And stood round its altar a living shield, 

Ne'er faltering once in the gloomy strife; 
And her gallant sons, Beaver, Hartranft, Ord, 

And others who march in the van to-day. 
Each wielded and won with a chivalric sword, 

When patriots in blue battled foes in gray. 

And when the red tide of rebellion crept 

Clear up through the vales to the border slopes. 
As fierce against Gettysburg's heights it swept, 

'Twas broken, and shattered were all its hopes — 
Pennsj'lvania stood there like a granite wall, 

With her heroes immortal, Reynolds, Hancock, 
Meade, 
And "ITnited we stand, divided we fall," 

Was the watchword, batt'e-cry, motto and creed. 

But where are they now, those heroes immortal? 

Brave Meade, and Reynolds and Hancock true, 
Who e'er through the smoke and strife of battle 

Would lead and not follow "the boys in bhie'"' 
They ride down the line of a phantom legion 

Far over the surf, on a shadowless lea. 
And pitched are their tents in that mysterv region 

At the wan hero camp of eternity. 



40 



MOSS AGATES. 



Yes, we welcome you here at the mountains' gate 

And extend unto each the fraternal hand, 
Fair daughters, brave sons of the Keystone state. 

As w^estwai'd you speed to the golden strand ; 
May heroic deeds of the trodden past 

E'er inspire when the simoon of warefare blows 
And may liberty's spirit forever cling fast 

To that land where the old vSusqnehanna Hows. 




FOLLOW ME. 



[The following verses were written by request on the 
death of Mrs. Cynthia Franklin, mother of Mrs. W. W. 
Corlett, and are respectfully inscribed to her and other 
children of the deceased, now residents of Kansas. The 
deceased lady was an exemplary Christian all her life 
time, and was well known to many in Cheyenne, where 
she spent much of her time with her daughter.] 

UNDER the sod she's cahnly sleeping, 
Earthly cares and sorrows o'er; 
"Beyond the smiling and the weeping," 
Here upon the drift-wood shore. 

Xe'er again, as when in childhood, 
Will be heard her kindly voice, 

Calling where you gladly followed. 
Yet weep not, but e'er rejoice. 

Though gone, there'll be a joyous meeting 
Where hfe's river laves the land, 

When you meet and at the greeting- 
Clasp again her cherished hand. 



42 MOSS AGATES. 

For to-day up in a mansion, 
Just inside the jasper gates — 

Just inside, that you her vision 

May sooner greet, a mother waits. 

Softly when the zephyr whispers, 
Seems a voice to come again — 

Yes, 't is her's — a sainted mother's; 
May your hear it, not in vain. 

f have passed through death's dark portal 

To the realms of mystery; 
1 have found a life immortal, 

Oh! my children, follow me. 




THE CARNIVAL CAROL. 



[Read at the Great Presbyterian Carnival, in October, 
1889.] 

THE stoney way, the stoney way, 
Covertly follow day by day, 
You'd fail to find if you should tn- 
A better place to groceries buy. 

Stone & Covert. 

Have you heard of that fellow Kirkland? 

More skillful than any out West; 
And the pictures you get at his photograph 
stand. 

Are always the cheapest and best. 

There is a place than all more Fair, 
Fred Clary and "Our Kel" are there, 
With Charley Rohm and Johnny true, 
And pretty Miss McGregor too; 
Here everything heart could desire 
Is kept, and prices please the buyer. 



44 MOSS AGATES. 

Doug and Dick, Doug and Dick, 
The hardest pair in town to lick, 

Or beat in the drugs they sell. 
If your are sick, if you are sick, 
Call on them quick, this Doug and Dick, 

Buy their ^Irugs and vou '11 get well. 

Ev'ry stranger who comes to town inquires 
For the dry goods house of William Myers, 
For there is no place in the border land. 
Where such elegant goods are kept on hand. 

Me keepee all kinds fine thmgs for sellee. 
Me never get dlunk and whoopee up hellee, 
But I likee get heepee good thing, If I can, 
And makee asignee like Melican man. 

Lok Don. 



I'd like to be an angel, but don't think I am able, 
For my wings have scarcely yet begun to 
sprout. 
But, brothers, let me tell you, I've the finest livery 
stable. 
In the town, if you but hear my gentle shout. 

J. C. Abney. 



THE CARNTVAI. CAROL. 45 

Where the clematis climbs on the window pane, 
And the woodbines grow by the garden wall, 

Yon may look and ponder, }et look in yain, 
Xo flower will yon miss for 1 grow^ them all. 

Mrs Chaffin. 

N^ndomc, ^>ndome, the boarders' home. 
If yon want something wholesome to eat. 

Just hie you there, and sample the fare. 
You will find it on Eighteenth street. 

If you want the best of painting, or some paper 

for the wall, 
Hunt up McCormick straightaway — give him a 

friendly call; 
He can do all kinds of painting, but there's one 

thing should be said, 
McCormick never yet was known to paint the pre- 

cmct red. 

Come, give us a call, give us a call. 
Come stout and short, come lean and tall, 
Our hardware stock is the finest and best 
To be found out here in the growing West. 
Wyoming Hardware Co. 

Feed and provisions, coffee and tea. 
And the best in the grecery line. 



46 MOSS AGATES. 

This is our motto, so just come and see, 
For we've got the "biz" down pretty fine. 

Bryant & Bonfilp. 

Jeweller Brown, Jeweller Brown, 
As handsome a man as there is in the town. 
And if you want jewels and want the best. 
Call and see him — he'll tell you the rest. 

Alexander McGregor meanders in. 
And the hair on the top of his head is thin, 
And had he but married some woman I know. 
What little there's left w^ould very soon go; 
But he merely came in for a moment to say 
That the pioneer grocery house will stay. 

We will speak of one now, but we do not lament 

That he of the council is president, 

Ho will sell you pure drugs — not claiming that 

pills, 
Will e'en round the corner, cure all sorts of ills. 

W N. Hunt. 

"From grocerie to grocerie," 

In former days was all the cry. 

But now people ask for but one. 

Kept by two brothers, named Johnston. 



THE CARNIVAL CAROL. 47 

Though this old tirm is Underwood, 
Yet be it surely understood, 
Their goods are best — don't ask nic whether 
This firm will e'er he caught "under the weath- 
er.'^ 

If you want to dress up and look nobby, 

Give Smith & Harrington a call, 
For they make it a special hob])y,^ 

To keep suits well suited to all. 

Just lake a walk with the Walkers' 
At the old stand we all known well ; 

Though too busy too be great talkers, 
Their goods will the story tell. 

Walker Bios. 

First in the field it paved the way. 

For prosperous times we have to-day. 

For solid financing the leaven, 

Down through the years since sixty-seven. 

First National Bank. 

Stockgrowing is ever our motto. 

Inside and outside our bank, 
And in the financial procession, 

We are e'er in the foremost rank. 

Stockgro Arers National Bank. 



48 MOSS AGATES. 

We have Collins and Morgan, Hulbert and Beard, 

And a premium upon our stock, 
No collapse or assignment need ever be feared, 

For our basis is firm as a rock. 

Cheyenne National Bank. 

Have you heard of Frank Meanea, the saddler? 
I tell you he's surely a rattler, 

And pays strict attention to "biz;" 
Saddles fit for the cowboy or jockey, 
At his place you will find nothing rocky, 

Now just make a big note of this. 

Wesley Hammond and Henry Arp, 

Though the envious world may grumble and 

carp. 
Are the leading hardware men of the West, 
As has oft been proved, when put to the test. 

The pioneer millinery house to-day. 
Is foremost in every line, they say; 
Yes, the taste in stitching is unexcelled. 
And with buyers her store is always filled. 

Mrs. E. Walker. 

Where the "Rockies" rise in grrandeur. 

Proudly in their old domains. 
The Cheyenne Daily Leade?- 

Had its birth, and still maintains 



THE CARNIVAL CAROL.. 49 

Its place among the journals, 

Fn-st and foremost ih the West; 
Though oft have would-be rivals 

"■'Closed their forms" and gone to rest, 

In the lead of the live stock interests, 

Sinew and bone of the land, 
Marches Mercer ahead of the column, ^ 

With the Stock yoiirnal in his hand. 

Not a man in Cheyenne ever scolds at Skolds, 
For when he takes "Photos" the truth unfolds. 

That a scolding by Skolds is the easiest way 
To get the best photograph going to-da\-. 

Find Bristol and Knabe — they have taken the cup. 

If you want good printing or books put up. 

Or a more complete blank than you'll find in the 

town. 
See them, for they'll do the job up prettv brown. 

"Here is your coal," the cold wind sings. 
Brought all the way from far Rock Springs, 
From the bosom of nature — that bounteous giver? 
Lay in a supply or you surely will shiver. 

Riner & Johnson. 



50 MOSS AGATES. 

To these elegant rooms of beauty and fashion, 
Come" matron and maiden and newly made 
bride, 

Where fairer than gems or pearls of the oeean. 

You'll find that which pleases your fancy and 

pride. 

Mrs. Robinson. 

Come one and come all to the millinery store, 
Of that ladv well known — Mrs. Brown; 

Though the goods with the fashions keep up ever- 
more. 
Yet the prices forever keep down. 

Not here in the Magic City, 

Nor anywhere else in the West, 
Will you find' where its not conceeded 

That their dressmakmg is the best. 

The Misses Walker. 

F. Schweickert's will sell you the hardware. 
Though the best, he will sell it so cheap. 

That from this time on you will never dare 
To suggest that the prices are steep. 

We don't do washee, we wash by steam, 
And never a break in the fold or seam. 
Will you find in the clothing we wash for you; 
Just try and this saying you'll find is true. 

Cheyenne Steam Laundry. 



THE CARNIVAL CAROL. 5 I 

With them merchant, kings and princes, 

There the governor and the man. 
Fit to guide the star of statehood, 

In the march, to lead the van; 
wShapcott, Tuttle, Smith, Miss Shulte, 

At the emporium e'er on hand. 
See their stock of goods, 'tis mammoth, 

And magnificently grand. 

Warren Mercantile Co. 

Repath appears well made — its only a sham. 
For you must agree with me, he's a shorthand 

man ; 
His typewriting, too, proves his dishonest intent. 
For he's no more or less than a light fingered 

gent. 

I suppose that you have heard that the C. C. C, 
Means Cheyenne Commercial Company, 
Grocery house, feed store, meat market and all, 
The hest thing to do is to give them a call. 

Dont think you'll e'er intrude. 
But come business man and dude. 

We've the finest stock, come in and of us buy, 
Be you tall or lean or stout. 
We can always fit you out 

With something which will always please vour 
e3^e. 

Geo. H. Truckev. 



52 MOSS AGATES. 

No odds how you lie on a Shingle, 
The work will be surely Caldwell, 

Though yarns and good news often mingle. 
Charge it up to the Lurid L. L.; 

Vet, wdien there's a cause to sustain that's right, 

The Eveniiig Tribune will make the fight. 

For all that is good, our market will take, 
A part of the bak'ry as well as the cake. 
Though you whistle a canine call complete, 
Our sausage won't follow you into the street. 

Phoenix Market. 

Did you hear how Jim Jenkins and Gus, 
In Cheyenne have kicked up a great fuss. 

And all about shoes understand? 
They have knocked all the prices way down. 
And yet they, of all in the town, 

Have the nobbiest outfit on hand. 

Call round and shake hands with Sam Wilcox, 
If you are hungry and want to buy bread; 

At all competition he's dealing hard knocks, ^ 
And his place is the best, it is said. 

Have you ever been out on the Inman line? 

Not the one stretching from shore to shore. 
But the line of pianos, guitars and harps, 

Which you find at his music store. 



THE CARNIVAL CAROL. 53 

I have heard of that isle in the waveless sea, 

Bright with amethyst, pearl and gold. 
But it isn't so bright, nor as fair can be, 

As the palace of gems untold. 
Which you find at the Zehner & Buechner stand, 

Where they glitter and dazzle the eye, 
And their wonderous beauty on ever}- hand, 

W^ill induce you at once to buy. 

The boots were not done, but the bill was made 
out, 
You have heard of this doubtless before; 
But now has the programme been changed about. 

And this is the way we do: 
We are keeping the best, either shoe or boot, 
People pay cash and no bills are made out. 

S. Bon. 

There's one thing sure, 

My drugs are pure 

And if you doubt, just come and see, 

And then of course you'll buy of me. 

B. B. David. 

Not sweeter the flower of Sandolphon, 
The mythical angel of prayer. 
Which he cast through the gates of the city, 
Diffusing their incense there, 



54 MOSS AGATES. 

Than those in ni}^ Eden floral, 
With the immortelles e'er in bloom, 
Where to jDliick them at morn and evening 
Bride, sweetheart and mourners come. 

Mrs. V. Glafcke. 

x\i the popular stand of Commissioner Hoyt 
Von'll not fail to be suited with all that you see. 

The best stock in town and no trouble to show it 
Call there and purchase — you'll satisfied be. 

Are you looking for a good book r 
If so then just take a look 

In Holt's establishment by the P. O. 
In the corners and nooks, 
And e'en hanging on hooks. 

You'll see them wherever you go. 

The cowboys, the cowboys, are making a raid, 
And all others are joining the throng. 

Where the finest of saddles and harness are made; 
"Long live Morrison," always the song. 

J. S. Collins. 

The first half of my name is for those in compe- 
tition. 
And the last half indicates tlie way I deal 



THE CARNIVAL CAROL. 55 

With my customers, so many who belong to every 

nation, 
And want clothing — now that's just the way I feel. 

Hellman. 

Come into the Palace Barber Shop, 

Put off your coat and make a stop 

We'll give you a shave and your hair trim down 

Far better than anyone else in town. 

Ashford. 

Come smoke a pure Cheyenne cigar, 
F. Boehm's the manufacturer 
Discard those " Early Yorks " you get, 
For his cigars are the best ones yet. 

If you get hungry and want to eat. 
Our grocery store is just your beat. 
Take it, you'll find our prices low, 
Best stock — no odds where you go. 

G lis wold & Co. 

They say that Pm lean and lanky. 
And sometimes they call me cranky, 

But there's one thing Pd like very much to say: 
In my business Pm a stayer. 
And of rogues I am a flayer, 

And my clothing house is crowded every day. 

Henry Harrington. 



56 MOSS AGATES. 

wSvvect candy, sweet bread and sweet cake, 

Is what you'll e'er find at my place, 

P^or the best of each one I can make, 

And the premium take in each case, 

E'en the Nevv Orleans Lottery bowed with a will. 

To the excellent cream we with Ellis distill. 

I'll make you a bet and I'll back it, 
That if you'll call around at the Racket, 
You'll get the best bargains for all that you buy. 
Than elsewhere, than elsewhere, no odds where 
you try. 

Where, oh where is Pete Bergerson? 
Two to one that he's out with a gun. 
For he keeps the best ones to be found in the 

West, 
This very same fellow, Pete Bergersoii. 

Just call in at Kellner's if you want to feast your 
eyes 

On the finest dry goods stock you ever saw. 
And that's not all you'll purchase of him, if voii 
are inside; 
For his prices will the custom always draw. 

Hunt up that fellow who growls and barks, 
And pilot him round to Maier Marks, 
WHio is running that mammoth clothing stand. 
And gives the best bargains in all the land. 



THE CARNIVAL CAROL. 



:>/ 



Now ho\s \ou\l just as well, 
vStrike the Normaiulie hotel, 

If \ oil want to lind a good one in Cheyenne; 
For Tve oft heard them declare 
That for prices and g^ood fare, 

It will meet all claims - e'en of thc^ Upper Ten." 

Tuttle, sa}' Tuttle, what are 3011 about? 
\'ou must not think you can run all the rest out, 
Vour paper and i^aint may be best, we all know, 
^'et Tuttle, Jim Tuttle, give each one a show. 

There's ^lerrill and Callantl, i: prett\- strong pair, 
Thev are dealing in lumber, and deal on the 

square. 
On a sound business basis, substantial, complete, 
And al\va>'s are friendh- with those who com- 
pete. 

As tirm as a rock, as solid as steel. 

Is the well known Mercantile, 

And the grocery house which the company runs 

Alight well be described by the term "Great 

Guns," 
For with Nagle and Whipple and Robins in 

charge, 
Their business we know has become yery large; 



58 MOSS AGATES. 

They can sell their goods cheap, (for between you 

and I) 
They well can afford it — they know how to buy. 

Call up Mr. Jack Murray, 
Tell him he must hurry. 

And get ready for the coming crop of ice; 
But tell him not to worry, 
This same Mr. Jack Murray, 

For there'll surely be no hitch about the price. 

Contractor Keefe, whom we often call "Mose," 
Will perhaps build a bridge to the moon; 

But if he can't do it, as every one knows. 
The bridge wont be built very soon. 

To my kindergarten the children come, 
And while learning to read with care, 

The tenderness of the childhood home. 
Transplanted — they find it there. 

The Carnival Carroll, with the double L., 

Now makes his bow and thinks 'tis well 

You survived while they read what he tried to 

write. 
Good night one and all, good night, good night. 



THE GIRL GUARDS. 



jWiiUcii bv icqucbL of lady friends of the company 
and respectfully dedicated by the writer to its twentv- 
four meujberb.J 

HAVE you seen our "Girl Guards," known as 
Company K? 
With their miniature muskets and caps of gray! 
Heave you heard the tramp of their delicate feet 
Keeping perfect step to a cadence sweet? 
Enchantingly sweeping in fitful air 
The kaleidoscope march of these maidens fair; 
Who forth from a land of Elysian bloom" 
To pass in review only seem to have come. 
O, what can compare with their beauty and worth 
But the Diety's smile on the bosom of earth ! 
Just heard, did you say? Then I'll tell you more, 
Concerning each one of this bright tvventv-four. 

wStand here close by me where the footlights 

burn. 
Where Company K makes many a turn; 



6o MOSS AGATES. 

To the right or to left, as the case may be, 
Not as they respond to the reveille 
Will you see them, but each in her proper place 
In line, when they move with such charming- 
grace. 
And as they appear by the tactical grade 
In the practice drill or a grand parade. 

Gallant Colonel vStitzer is m command. 

You have heard of him oft — stay, the girls are at 

hand ; 
First Emma O'Brien and Kate Kelly too. 
Brighter, nobler girls Cheyenne never knew; 
Mary Davidson, handsome— -in girlhood a queen, 
The intellect flash in her eye to be seen ; 
With fair Gertrude Morgan make up the full set. 
Yet no; I inean the first Girl Guard quartette. 

Next come Lulu Maxw^ell and Alvenie Gloye, 
And then Gertrude Ellis and sweet Mamie Hor- 

rie, 
As charming a four you will scarce ever see— 
These are second in line in K Company ; 
Handsome Eva Smalley with wx'alth of dark hair. 
With lona Davis, both winsome and fair. 
And then Edna Wilseck and Carrie Ingram, 
Two bright, charming misses, in unison come. 



THE GIRL GUARDS. 6 1 

Three fours now have passed us— just one-half in 

all— 
As they now countermarch through the well 

Hghted hall. 
Look! look you again! as the column sweeps on! 
Here come Ada Johnston and Clara Newman, 
Two ai> pretty young misbcs as cwi n uu'li see, 
While the fair Isabel Montgomery 
And sweet Bessie Vreeland, excelling in song, 
With steps of perfection, come marching along. 

Then Jessie Lee, a bright, fair-haired lass, 
Ora Cowhick, a beauty, quick near us pass; 
Then Mina McGregor, both pretty and bright. 
And Mamie Geotz, charming, with footsteps 

light; 
Next comes Gracie Chaffin, sweet-voiced and fair. 
And then Florence Bradley with queenly air; 
While Jessie Newman, a pretty young girl. 
With Effie Vreeland, in beauty a pearl, 
Sweep past in the march on the waxened floor; 
The're last, but not least of the fair twenty-four. 

All honor then give to our Company K ; 
But the story I've told, and further will say 
While specially mentioning few at this time 
I'm obliged to do this if the story's in rhyme, 



62 MOSS AGATES. 

And I've hoped as I witnessed their marcliing to- 
night 
That the future to each one may e'er seem as 

bright 
And be but the reflex of what now appears 
As they march down the aisles of the untrodden 

years ; 
May to these gems m girlhood a bountiful share 
Be vouchsafed of Divine and Omnipotent care: 
For by such to this life there is graciously given 
A beauteous charm earth has borrowed from 
Heaven. 




LITTLE EVA. 



[Written by request of friends of the familj- and re- 
spectfully inscribed to Mr. and Mrs. L. H. Woodmansee 
on the death of their little daughter Eva | 

LITTLE Eva, they say, is dead; 
That now of hfe she has no share; 
Low laid within the earth damp bed 
Bcantiftil one with golden hair. 

Long da3^s of sadness come and go 
Now tliat your darling's voice is still; 

But imknown nmrmiirs, soft and low, 
Tell you this was the P'ather's will. 

And in the sorrowed, breaking heart 

vSomcthing Avhispers, though woes abide, 

Vou arc, perchance, not far apart 
From the beautiful one that died. 

No, little Eva is not dead; 

Only — only has gone to rest. 
E'en now has left that earth cold bed 
To be with Him who "knoweth best." 



64 MOSS AGATES. 

Not dead, but lives forevermore 

Angel Eva, more bright and fair 
Than w^hen she dwelt here on earth's shore 
A little child with golden hair. 

You will cross to the velvet strand 
Some day, to share its joy and bliss; 

She'll meet you there, reach out her hand 
And greet you with her childish kiss. 




MANSFIELD'S LAST RIDE, 



WERE you there that day on Antietam's field 
Where death missies made such a fata^ 
search ? 
Where Hooker, outnumbered, swore never to 
yield. 
And Smith charged in by the Dunkir church? 
Did you hear the shriek of those shrapnel shell 

Just out throug-h the cornfield adown the plain? 
Were you there in the fight where Richardson 
fell. 
And Hancock rallied the lines again? 
Those shouts — did you hear — down there by the 
ridge 
Beyond the position where Porter lay 
When Burnside pushed over the old stone bridge 
And hurled his columns into the frav? 



(i6 MOSS AGATES. 

Were you there when that Hne swept into the 
fight 
Which "Stonewall" Jackson could ne'er com- 
hat— 
That grand left wheel on the Union right? 

No charge in his'try e'er equalled that; 
Did you see that hero, old Mansfield, ride? 

I can see him yet with his thin white hair, 
Exclaiming, while pointing the way to guide: 
"Go on, hoys! go on, we will meet them 
there!" 

Heavens, those shouts and the musketry's crash! 

Yet through all the battle's swift-rolling dun, 
'Mid sheets of fierce flame and cannon's red flash. 

Undaunted and fearles he still rode on. 
Though carnage swept wide with a simoon's 
breath, 

He was riding stright in until lost to view^ 
Right into the midst of that maelstrom death 

Which swallowed its thousands of "men in 
blue." 

(rleaming war blades high uplifted; 

Flash and clash with bayonet; 
Squadrons reel and brigades waver 

In that deadly, fierce onset, 



Mansfield's last ride. 67 

Darker grows the mantling war cloud 

O'er iVntietam's crimsoned slopes; 
While the foeman strike for vict'ry^ — 

Here in columns, there in groups, 
Lies beside the dying Northmen 

Brother foeman on the sod — 
Upward flit their souls together 

To the martial court of God. 
Yet, O where is that grim horseman, 

Mansfield? Does he still ride there 
Pointing, while the winds of tumult 

Toss and drift his whitened hair? 

But hark, what is that, as the foe recede? 

Faint heard in the battle's diminished roar: 
"Mansfield has fallen — shot dead from his steed!" 

The grand old hero will ride no more. 
His spirit went up to the cloud land field ; 

Life given a sacrifice for the land 
He fought to vindicate, save and shield. 

And fell while he gave us that last command. 

O the day that was fraught with a nation's fate 
At Sharpsburg — they call it Antietam now — 

Whose thunders were heard at the capital's gate 
When Lincoln recorded that solemn vow 

To emancipate if a victory came 

In that fight where we lost more men in blue. 



68 MOSS AGATES. 

Who fell for their country and not for fame, 

Than Wellington lost at Waterloo. 
Yet not for home, nor our country's weal, 

Died there a hero more true and brave 
Than grand old Mansfield with mould of steel, 

Who reached at Antietam a soldier's grave. 

Peace smiles to-day on the Maryland shore, * 
For strife's dread tumult is heard no more. 
Gone now, are the blue and the gray alike 
And no troopers ride on the Hagerstown pike. 
No longer is crimsoned the river's flow 
And the Sharpsburg cornfields untrampled grow; 
In peace thoroughfares throng the foemen of old. 
For wars saturnalia long^ since grew cold. 

Old Sharpsburg village to-day appears 
Much the same as it did in the bygone years. 
A stroll through the town and you'll see again 
The old time half shattered window pane. 
If by night you wander from street to street. 
You scarce a villager e'er will meet. 
Naught heard in the stillness encompassing all 
Save the whippoorwill notes and the night hawk's 

call. 
And closely around the old hearth stone fire 
The villagers gather, from child to sire. 



Mansfield's last ride. 69 

Each night with voices subdued and low 
They talk of the times in the years ago; 
Of the great battle fought near the quaint old 

town — 
Of the thousands who fell ere the sun went down ; 
And oft when the children have gone to sleep, 
And older ones uncanny vigils keep — 
When 'tis thought that no skeptical ones are 

near — 
They a story relate to the listening ear. 

Half whispered, they tell of a horseman still 
Who at midnight rides on the Sharpsburg hill. 
And sometmaes they see by the moonlight dim 
The features of Mansfield — pale and ghm; 
Unseen though a battle line, legion or troop. 
He still points the way down the clover grown 

slope. 
Though he utters no word, yet he seems to say 
As w hen riding the lines on that fatal day. 
While the night wmds play through his thin, white 

hair: 
"Go on, boys I go on, we will meet them there!" 



70 MOSS AGATES. 



HAND IN HAND. 



[Marriage of Mr. Frank PiiLstlv and Miss Eva Morrow.] 

^.JTE shall sail far out on the blue sea of life; 
\\ We shall drift on its tide waves together; 
And the two names so sacred — of husband and 
wife — 
Shall be ours; yes, forever, forever. 
Though surf mists and storms we shall meet on 
the way, 
Yet with the Great Pilot's hand guiding. 
Our bark shall float safely on, onward each day, 
Ev'ry tempest outriding, outriding. 

Though we leave it true ones stand and watch 
from the shore 
As we're out towaid the harbor bar sailing. 
And their friendship goes with us to-day — ever- 
more, 
A friendship, unfailing, unfailing. 
Beyond lie the isles in perennial spring, 
And the orient zephyrs are blowing 



HAND IN HAND. 7 1 

Where the love plumaged nightingales carol and 
sing, 
Sweet cadence bestowing, bestowing. 

Though at last we shall drift by the earth evening 
strand 

Where the leafless gray willows are waving, 
Just beyond lie the shores of the whisperless land, 

Which life's w^aters are laving, are laving. 
Then, as now, the names sacred — of husband and 
wife. 

Shall be ours — naught e'en death can us sever; 
Hand in hand e'er in this and the mystery life. 

We will journey together, together. 



^ 



72 MOSS AGATES, 



THE ANGEL WHO CAME THAT 
NIGHT. 



' nH mamma, Fm weary and hiingr\-, 

(J And I wish we had something to eat; 
I do not mean pie or some turkey - 
Onlv bread and a small bit of meat. 

"T know yoifve no money to Iniy it 
We're so poor since dear papa w ent 

To that land which they tell us is starlit; 
Where no sorrow to any is sent. 

"But, mamma, to-day and with Charlie 
Tve wandered to see if we could 

Earn somehow a small sum of money 
With which we could buy us some food. 

"And we saw some pies in a window 

That we passed as we went down the street, 

And my poor heart was filled up with sorrow 
When I thought we had«nothincr to eat. 



THE ANGEL WHO CAME THAT NIGHT. 73 

"And, ma, don't you think that if papa 
Could know we are hungry to-night. 

He would come from that land of the future — 
The land which they say is so bright? 

"Yes, surely, mamma, I know that he would, 

And get for us something to eat; 
Though not what the rich folks would call very 
good, 

But some bread and a small piece of meat. 

"Oh, mammal Oh, mamma! I am sorry, don't cry, 
For some friend may possibly come. 

And I know that to-night you're as hungry as I 
x\s we sit in our little cold room." 

"My child 1 have praved to Our Father to-day 
And have asked him to give us some food. 

And unto poor children who faint on the wav - 
I know He will ever be good. 

"And it may be, my child, that an angel of His 

To-night may come in at our door. 
And perhaps when he comes from the fair land of 
bliss 

He may bring us some bread, if no more." 



74 MOSS AGATES. 

Just then at the door came softly a rapping-, 
And a stranger, uncouth apd unshorn, 

Came into the room at their bidding 
To the Httle room cold and forlorn. 

"See yere— I 'spose you know me? 

But they calls me Old Jimmie for short. 
Sit down^ — well, yas, for a minit, maybe; 

But I don't know per'aps as I ort. 

"I come in to say I just heerd tliat [)uor Tom 

Is aslcepin' up thar on the hill; 
And T 'spose you're not quite as well fixed as 
some, 

And in course of wealth none has our fill. 

"Ye see, once way up thar on the Spearfish 

Tom came to my rescue one day; 
When the Injuns piled out of the sage brush, 

And with me that they'd git away. 

"But me and poor Tom we just gin em 
A game that the scamps didn't like, 

And I tell ye, again for the sage brush, mam, 
Those devils they made a big strike. 



THE ANGEL WHO CAME THAT NIGHT. 75 

'And I tell you poor Tom's little fam'lv 

Aint a goin' to go hungry nor drv; 
Here's a five and a ten and a twenty; 
Just take 'em— Oh mam, don't ye cry ' 

"And you just bet yer life that Old Jimniie — 

For you, and the little ones too — 
Will allers come down with his money ; 

x\nd I tell you I'll see ye all through." 

When the children knelt by their bed that night 
To engage in their short little prayer. 

They did not forget the good angel of light 
W^ho came, but with unshorn hair. 

And away in that land of the future, 

Which we all are fast journeying toward ; 

Where the rich than the poor are no richer, 
Old Jimmie will get his reward. 




76 MOSS AGATES. 



CLASP HANDS ALIKE WITH BLUE 
AND GRAY. 



[Read at an Emancipation Celebration.] 

N Southern lands long years ago, 
A race drank deep the dregs of woe 
In slavery's chains e'er welded fast — 
That race had walked for centuries past. 
No light illumed the gloomy way 
Where bondmen toiled from day to day ; 
To rescue from this living grave 
No arm reached forth to free the slave. 

But hark! the guns at Sumpter roar 

And shake the old Palmetto shore. 

The call "To arms!" sounds through the land, 

O'er mountain plain and ocean strand. 

Patriots fall, the Union rocks, 

While loud resound the battle shocks. 

Forth from a mighty northern cam.p 

To meet the foe great armies tramp. 



CLASP HANDS WITH BLUE AND GRAY. 77 

'Twas then Abraham Lincohi spoke 
In words which all the world awoke, 
Proclaiming slaves should e'er be free — 
Immortal voice of liberty. 
" Freedom to all," was the watchword. 
While Grant and Sherman wield the sword, 
Till not a child of enforced toil 
Remained upon Colum^bia's soil. 

This glorious day through coming time 
Shall be observed in every clime. 
Wherever men are just and true 
To rights of all — not of the few — 
Abraham Lincoln's name shall live 
While God to man shall memory give; 
With U. S. Grant's, that hero grand, 
Who triumphed and preserved our land. 

'Tis over now, that race to-day 
Clasp hands alike with blue and gray ; 
No more to mourn, no more to weep 
In woes of bondage, dire and deep. 
And where, at Charleston, first was heard 
That gun which loyal hearts so stirred. 
All colored men to-day turn back 
In sorrow to that earthquake's track ; 



78 



MOSS AGATES. 



And freely send their little mite 
To sufferers there, both black and white, 
With prayers that tumults come no more 
To that old-tjme Palmetto shore. 




THE UNION PACIFIC. 



[Read at the Great Carnival, October, 1889, by General 
John Charles.] 

THERE was a time some years ago 
When progress in Cheyenne was slow. 
Throned on the treeless foot-hill slope 
The Magic City saw no hope. 
Buc stay — that word — our ears attend; 
Cheyenne has still a steadfast friend, 
Union Pacific railroad men 

Those true words spoke — they spoke and then 
New life appeared on ev'ry side; 
Hope rose again and then the pride 
Of our fair city rose on high — 
"That depot" towards the clear hlue sky. 
Shops came in time, and now we feel 
That the "U. P." was true as steel 
To us — when there was little left, 
And we of hope almost bereft. 



8o MOSS AGATES. 

And over these plains and mountains 
May its railroad unrivalled run, 
'Till the bright reflex of its glorv 
Out travels the setting sun. 
And here in this Magic City 
We will cherish its name with pride, 
'Till we go on our last excursion 
O'er the crest of the Great Divide. 




THE B. & M 



WHAT is that which we see to the eastward 
Pushing over tlie alkah plain, 
While its puffs of black smoke rolling upward, 
Form a vast anaconda like train 
Stretching downi the long slope toward the border 
Of our neighbors — that prosperous state, 
Historic, undaunted Nebraska, 
Standing proud by the '^ Border Land'' gate. 
'Tis the long looked for B. & M. "Mogul—" 
We have watched for its coming for 3xars. 
Wave the flag, fire the gun, sound the bugle 
And let's us greet it with thundering cheers; 
For, boys, dawns there a new morning 
Since the Burlington engine has come. 
And to-night let the song of rejoicing 
Resound in each Cheyenneite's home. 



82 MOSS AGATfiS. 



LITTLE WALT. 

[On the Death of Walter Dyer.] 

E sit in the gloom and shade to-night 
And think of the days gone bv, 
When our household seemed like the morning 
light 
And bright as the summer sky. 

But our hearts are sad as we sit and think 

Of a cradle we used to have 
E'er our darling passed to the river's brink 

And crossed o'er the darksome wave. 

^'es, Little Walter has gone afar, 

And we walk amid shades and gloom ; 

Vet he passed through the gates that are left ajar, 
Where flowers eternally bloom. 



LITTLE WALT. 83 

We shall some day pass to the river's side 

And cross to the distant shore; 
To the peaceful land far over the tide, 
Where partings shall come no more. 

And a tiny form in a little bark 

Will come from the opposite strand 
As we shrink to pass through the waters dark 

To the beach of the twilight land. 

And a cherished voice will break on the ear 
As the boat in the mist comes to view ; 

" Papa and Mamma, don't have any fear, 
Little Walter is coming for you." 

Yes, you'll cross the dark tide with your own little 
boy 

And with him shall walk on the lea; 
To bask in the brightness and sunlight of joy 

In a home by the summer land sea. 




84 MOSS AGATES. 



NOT A FINAL ADJOURNMENT. 



[Inscribed to Hon. David Miller and the other mem- 
bers of the late House of Representatives of 1884.] 

"^OME, boys, for the gavel has fallen 
J And the House has adjourned sine die. 
Unto us is the privilege given 
Of a union in song — you and I. 

Our labors of state are all ended 

And we scatter from hence far and near 

Ere we part let our voices be blended 
In a song to our memories dear. 

Form a circle around in the center 

Of the hall which we are soon to leave, 

And let each take the hand of his neighbor; 
Let our, parting a token recei\-e. 



NOT A FINAL ADJOURNMENT. 85 

Of the brotherhood ties that now bind us; 

Ma}' it be thus as here hand in hand, 
While Hfe's billows break and roll o'er us 

We may e'er be an unbroken band. 

We've debated and fought through the session 

For constituents we represent, 
x\nd oft have we called a " division," 

When to carry our point we were bent. 

But now that our contests are finished 
And suspended all rules of restraint, 

Our friendship is still undiminished; 
Firm, constant and free from all taint. 

Now let us while here all united 

Sing a song dear to your hearts and mme — 
Fit for princes, the poor and benighted — 

That grand old historic Lang Syne. 

Then fall in Teschemacher and Downey, 
Jones, the speaker; Craig, Quealy and Goad, 

Schwartz, Nickerson, Allen and Dudley, 
Grant, Kennedy, Bussard and Ford. 

Come also Deloney and Jackson, 

Groesbeck, also W^eaver, Cahill, 
Smith, Snider with positive Seaton, 

And " Dave" Miller the quorum will fill. 



86 MOSS AGATES. 

Though perhaps not again legislators, 
We will all do the best that we can; 

To those instincts w^e ne'er will prove traitors — 
Those instincts which make the true man. 

Then when comes roll call o'er the river 

And we in the last house appear, 
Whose sessions shall last— last forever, 

^^ay each one, may all answer "here." 

When introduced are our bills there eternal 
To be heard in our Father's great house, 

May their titles when read from the journal 
No sneers from the " lobby " arouse. 

May they "pass" there when they've been com- 
mitted 

To the "whole house" way up by the throne, 
To the " general file " be remitted 

With never a " rider" tacked on. 

When our bills have all passed the " third read- 
ing" 

And are put on their "passage" on high^ 
May no voice there be heard as dissenting — 

May there be one unanimous "aye." 



NOT A FINAL ADJOURNMENT. 



87 



Wlien enrolled and our bills are presented, 
Be our Great Master's signature lent 

To "approve" of our "acts" unamended 
And in no case a " veto " be sent. 

Yes, fall in Teschcmacher and Downey, 
Jones, Quealy, Craig, Coad and the rest. 

Side by side we will march in life's journey 
Through these foothills way out in the west. 




88 MOSS AGATES. 



BOYS, DON'T CALL ME A CRIPPLE 
TO-NIGHT. 



[The incident upon which the following verses were 
written occurred at Warm Springs, VT'yo., (now Saratoga) 
and w^ere composed immediately after listening to the 
story of a crippled war veteran.] 

NO, boys, don't call nie a cripple to-night 
^ While passing your jokes around, 
For something is dimming my failing sight 
And it falls with a grating sound. 

I'm a cripple, of course you all well know, 

And a wreck and a ruin for life; 
And yet perhaps 'twould not have been so 

But for the recent rebellion's strife. 

Yes, the wound that made of me a cripple 
I received in the Petersburg charge 

Where thousands fell in the struggle— 
Our loss was unusually large. 



DON T CALL ME A CRIRPLE TO-NIGHT. 89 

Though I drag to-night on a desolate shore 

With my prospects in Hfe all gone, 
1 think of the days which will come no more 

As I journey through life alone. 

.\nd in fancy my heart goes back again 

To a cot by the woodland dense, 
Where the clematis climbed on the window pane 

And the heliotrope grew by the garden fence. 

.\nd a mother dear and a gray haired sire 

I see, as in spirit I journev back, 
vSitting again at the hearthstone fire. 
By Its friendly glow and its cheerful crack. 

And little Jimmie, 1 see him too. 

And Fannie with ringlets of g-olden hair. 

They are smiling again and their eyes of blue 
Are just as wondrously bright and fair. 

In mem'ry once more b}^ the little brook 
We w^ander again there hand in hand, 

Into ev'ry sly little corner and nook, 
'Mid flowers there by the golden sand. 

But death will come and it came to them- — 

Peacefully now they're all at rest, 
Sweetly asleep by the murmuring stream. 

Close by the dear old homestead nest. 



90 



MOSS AGATES. 



There's another whose name I never speak, 

Who said she would ever be true; 
And boys perhaps you will call me weak 

As I tell this story to you. 

When I came from the war all crippled and lame 

She became as a stranger to me — 
With myself and her it was not the same 

And it never again will be. 

Since then, perhaps, I have drank too much; 

But I've done the best that I could; 
But a fellow like me, and I'll say all such, 

Will never do just as they should. 

I shall walk again, but it will not be 

'Till I cross to the mystic shore. 
Where the ransomed stand on the golden lea; 

Where troubles will come no more. 

And then once more with Fannie and "Jim," 
O'er the meadows forever in bloom. 

We shall walk where the crystal waters gleam. 
In that far away, peaceful home. 

And a mother dear and gray haired sire 

Will stand by my side again. 
Where white robed angels with harp and lyre 

Will chant a beautiful strain. 



DON T CALL ME A CRIPPLE TO-NIGHT. 9I 

As I sit here to-night in the twilight gray 
These thoughts come back to my mind, 

As they have not come for many a day, 
Though crippled, weary and almost blind. 

Yes, while passing your jokes on ev'ry hand 
Something is dimming my failing sight. 

For sadly I'm roaming on memory's strand — 
Oh, boys! don't call mc a cripple to-night. 




92 MOSS AGATES. 



WE WELCOME YOU 



[The following- poem was recited by t^e author at the 
reception tendered to the members of the Colorado Sj 
nod at the Presbyterian Church in Chejenne, the Synod 
being composed of pastors and delegates not only from 
Colorado and Wyoming but from New Mexico and Ari- 
zona as well.] 

WE welcome yoii, we welcome you, 
God's votaries steadfast and true; 
We proffer you the kindly hand, 
Though not as strangers, from a land 
To us e'er whisperless and afar. 
Across the vision's harbor bar. 
What though you claim a distant home, 
Or from the snowy range lands come; 
We greet you here, as brothers, friends, 
For fellowship m God extends 
Beyond the distant rocky steep 
Around whose base the centuries sleep; 
In faith and spirit, side by side. 
The gre^at divide can ne'er divide. 



WE WELCOME YOU. 93 

What means this gathering here to-night? 

These men of God, what brings them herer 

Prayers ancT petitions io indict 

In perfect faith and Godly fear; 

'Tis that in union here may Im 

A work performed for all mankind; 

A glorious work in harmony, 

Born of the Godlike heart and mind. 

What are the grandest work of men? 

Where are they wrought, by whom and when? 

Ask not of him who boasts his worth 

And gropes in intellectual dearth ; 

Nor yet of he whose God is fame, 

And manhood barters for a name. 

These, these ne'er know, nor understand 

Life's mystery and problem grand. 

Call back to life the living dead; 
The arm outstretched lost men to save. 
Point out where faith's bright halos shed 
Their beams on pathways to the grave ; 
Mens' griefs and sorrows e'er assuage, 
In hope triumphant lead the van; 
This now, has been in every age. 
The grandest, noblest work of man. 



94 MOSS AGATES. 

Down through the aisles of slumbering time, 

In every age, in every clime, 

Where e'er was seen, where e'er has been, 

A grander host of Godlike men 

Than those true ones of iron mould. 

Who, in the martyr days of old 

Stood firm around the blood stained cross 

And counted life and fame but dross; 

When in the cause of holiness 

Their all was cast, mankind to bless. 

The Presbyterian faith and creed 
And banner of the church unfurled. 
Of righteousness have been the seed , 
Its fruit, the leaven of a world. 
Sown deep among old Scotland's hills 
And nurtured where her thistle grows. 
It spread untU its influence fills 
That old world where its star arose. 

Flashing o'er the waste of waters 
Through the surf mists of the tide. 
From the old land to the new one, 
Came that halo sanctified; 
And its radiance transcendent. 
O'er the western world has cast 
Pure beams of light — ^the reflex 
Of its splendor in the past. 



WE WELCOME YOU. Q5 

church I whose creed the world shall light I 
With whom John Calvin walks to-night, 

A nation claims your history; 
Made in that cause of liberty, 
When slavery sat securely throned, 
And millions for their freedom moaned. 

In this fair land long years ago, 

A race drank deep the dregs of woe; 

A sombre gloom enshrouded all — 

Hung o'er them like a funeral pall ; 

But hark — give heed — what sound is that? 

Fron'i where your great assembly sat; 

Though years have fled, "three score and ten," 

1 seem to hear it, and as when 

The bondman heard, and lifted high 
His voice in praise when came that crv, 
The first of church, or yet of state, 
"The slave, the slave emancipate." 

And yet, to-night, the welded chains 
Of that dark slaverv of the soul 
Are clanking, clanking, and remains 
Sin's bondage; while its muster roll 
Shows countless millions doomed to die; 
Yet, from the Imperial throne on high 



g6 MOSS AGATES. 

The Master calls and bids, yozi go 
Among his children, high and low 
And with redemption's sledge the key, 
Break loose their bonds and set them free. 

When the shades of life's gray twilight 

Gather 'round the troubled way 

Of this earth's uncertain journey 

And you near its closing day. 

Then whispering through the shadows 

There, encompassing the tomb. 

By faith you'll hear these cheering words; 

"• 'Tis naught but going home;" 

For the Master's Great Assembly 

And his synod, up on high. 

Where the pure in heart are gath'ring. 

Will convene there, bye and bye; 

And amid that blc>om eternal 

On the far-off mystic shore. 

You'll receive the Christian's welcome 

To a rest forevermore. 

Yes, here to-night, we welcome you, 
God's votaries steadfast and true; 
We proffer you the friendly hand, 
Though not as strangers from a land 



WE WELCOME YOU. 

To us e'er whisperless and far 
Across the vision's harbor bar; 
What though you claim a distant home 
Or from the snowy range lands come; 
We greet you here as brothers, friends, 
For fellowship in God extends 
Beyond the distant rocky steep 
Around whose base the centuries sleep; 
Ever in spirit, side by side, 
E'en death's divide can ne'er divide. 



97 




98 MOSS AGATES. 



THE FEW FOR THE MANY. 



THEY may talk about life and its pleasures 
And the blessings which bounti'fly come 
From the storehouse of Heavenly treasures 

To the mansion, the cot and the home; • 
But there's often a weary one here to-day 
Struggling along through the journey- 
Faint and hungry and blind on the way — 
One of few who must fall for the many. 

It is said, and we tind it in scripture, 

That tares were sown all through the wheat 
That mankind could see in the future 

As they might with uncertainties meet; 
That those who walk upright and noble 

All the way fain to do and to dare, 
Might learn to be true from the humble 

By beholding the shriveled up tare, 



THE FEW FOR THE MANY. 99 

Go stand where the martyrs are lying asleep — 
They who fought for their country and home; 

Where the angel of rest shall a long vigil keep 
By the side of the blossom robed tomb. 

x\nd the question then ask, if these soldiers who 
fell- 
Brave men and noble and true; 

Where the boom of the gun was their funeral 
knell- 
Did they die for the many — tliese few? 

Saunter into the gay halls of fashion, 

Where society's votaries tread, 
As they from the palace and mansion 

Pass by you with uplifted head. 
See beautiful daughters of opulence 

In their satins and silks of snow ; 
How fair in their maidenhood's radience — 

The purest of pure here below. 

Come with me to the darksome valley, 
Where no flickering lamp lights glow^ 

And a gloom like the shade of death's valley 
Encompass w^herever you go. 

Peer in at that narrow entrance, 

See that withered, bent form sitting in there. 



lOO MOSS AGATES. 

Weary and cold and hungry, perchance 
In rags and with uncombed hair. 

She was once as bright and beautiful 

As any that walk on the earth; 
She was faithful, true and dutiful. 
Up to womanhood's years from birth. 
But she fell — and perJiaps her exampl"! 

Kept many a maiden true. 
Who shall say that the lives of the many 

Are not saved by the fall of the few? 

See that shabby inebriate there on the street 

On the trail for his whiskey, of course; 
Uncertain his gait — unsteady his feet — 

In his face what a look of remorse. 
No matter what drove him away down the grade 

Of misfortune — affliction was born; 
His record for life and the future is made — 

To him points the finger of scorn. 

How many perchance in the hurrying throng, 

As they pass the poor outcast by, 
Who, but for the example he sets, e'er long 

They too might be ready to die.'' 



THE FEW FOR THE MANY. lOI 

Don't treat h'm with scorn when you meet him 
to-day, 

For his fate is a warning to you ; 
You prosper in life as you travel your way 

Through the ruin and wreck of the few. 

Far back in the times long ago come and gone 

Lived one known as the Son of God, 
Who walked on this earth His way alone, 

And endured for us the chastening rod. 
At Him was pointed the finger of scorn 

As he died on the crest of Calv'ry ; 
On His brow a crown of thorns was worn 

And His death was but one for the many. 

As you journey through life then remember 

Those who fall that the many may live; 
Though they seem but the earth to encumber, 

Yet Our Father will bountifully give 
And will surely make ample provision ' 

For the noble, the pure and the true; 
But the gates that lead up to his mansion 

He will open and call in the few. 



i02 MOSS AGATES. 



ALMOST AT THE TOP/' 



[Composed for and recited by Miss Leontine Abney 
at commencement exercise^, 188.15.] 

^^^E must charge them again! go forward and 



steadily !" 

Said the general commanding at South Moun- 
tain's front, 
And the wi;vering lines that had struggled so gal- 
lanty 
Rallied once more for the battle's fierce brunt. 

"Boys, we must charge to the crest of the moun- 
tain! 
Be ready to move at the tap of the drum ! 
But stay," said the leader — he spoke as if doubt- 
ing— 
"Where's the drummers? did one on the battle 
field come? 



ALMOST AT THE TOP. IO3 

" I'm here," clear and strong rang the voice of a 
boy drummer, 

While fearlessly flashing his resolute eye; 
"I'll beat the drum and if need be all summer, 

Clear up to the top of the mountain, or die!" 

"All right, my brave lad! sound the long roll for 
forward," 
vSaid the general, admiring the drummer boy's 
grit; 
"But mind you," said he, "as the column climbs 
upward, 
Be careful my hero and do not get hit." 

At the word of command the snare drum was 
beaten — 

With a shout to the charge swept the long bat- 
tle line. 

Though with canister, shrapnel and musketrv 
riven , 

Right upward it followed the drummer boy's 
sign. 

Great Heavens, that sound! Hear the musketry 
crashing! 

The roar of the guns and bursting of shells! 
See the smoke roll and the ibcessant flashing! 

Oh hear the loud shouts and demoniac vel's! 



I04 MOSS AGATES. 

And list — through the tumult and fierce storm of 
battle, 
What faint sound is that near the grim moun- 
tain's head? 
'Tis the drummer boy still, 'tis the snare drum's 
sharp rattle. 
Way up 'mid the fighting, the wounded and 
dead. 

Angles in Heaven drop the thick curtain down 
ward 
And hide from our vision the tragical sight. 
For the last final onset the host surges upward 
Through the smoke shroud now dark as the 
gloomiest night. 

Hark! Hark! that shout 'way up on the mountain 
craig; 
Look! look! something flutters against the dark 
sky — 
'Tis the stars and stripes waving — our glorious old 
Union flag — 
'Tis our banner in victory floating on high. 

But where is the boy? for the snare drum is voice- 
less; 
Not there, he had fallen, his battles were o'er; 



ALMOST AT THE TOP. IO5 

In the death dealing leaden storm, pitiless, relent- 
less. 
He fell, and will mingle in conflict no more. 

By a rock on the side of the mountain they found 
him. 
While the life current flowed from a wound in 
the breast. 
Pale was his face, his blue eyes grown strangely 
dim. 
But smiling he spoke ere he sank to his rest: 

'^ Almost at the top when the minie ball struck 
me," 

He said, while they essayed the current to stop; 
And then, as his soul fled away mto mystery, 

Whispered but faintly, *' Almost at the top." 

They made him a grave on that blood -baptized 
mountain side 
And hallowed the spot with their unbidden 
tears ; 
But his spirit went o'er where the whisperless 
waters glide 
By the orient gates through eternity's years. 



Io6 MOSS AGATES. 

Sleep! sleep drummer boy, where the song of the 
whippoorwill 
By thy last resting place shall your requiem be; 
But "almost at the top," we in visions can see him 
still, 
Where phantom braves muster, far over the 
sea. 

Yes, o'er the dark tide on the dim mystic ever- 
glade. 
We can see him once more — hear the boy drum- 
mer's sign 
Sounding down the whole length of the legion 
and cavalcade 
While the host surges forward along the whole 
line. 

As vot'ries of learning working upward and on- 
ward. 
Let us press toward the goal and ne'er waver 
nor stop. 
May we not like the drummer, while still toiling 
upward. 
Grow weary and fall when " almost at the top." 



THE HOODLUM'S SATURDAY 
NIGHT. 



T HAVE looked for the quarter I thought I had, 
J But have failed to bring it to light; 
And the fact is making me somewhat sad. 
For I'm terrible hungry to-night. 

No one perhaps would care to know 

My thoughts as I sit and dream 
By the flickering lamp's uncertain glow 

With its faint and feeble gleam. 

But the Saturday night I'm passing through 

Is filled with many a thought, 
When life seemed all that is good and true 

And never with trouble fraught. 

It matters not that I may have done 

What many would scorn to do. 
For I travel the trail Of life alone 

And shall 'till the journey's through. 



I08 MOSS AGATES. 

The dilemma here it affects not now — 

That quarter I cannot find, 
Perhaps on account of this aching brow, 

Or I may be partiatly bh'nd. 

I will let it go and sing a song 

That I learned upon childhood's shore, 
When I was merry the whole day long. 

In the happy old days of yore. 

We shall all cross over the great divide 
To the prairie forever in bloom. 

And pitch our tents on the further side 
And make it our endless home. 

But it may not be that the weary here 
Are barred from its bloom and light. 

Though walking alone amid foliage sear 
On the hoodlum's Saturday night. 



WHERE IS MY WANDERING GIRL 
TO-NIGHT? 

[The incident upon which these lines were based oc- 
curred at Denver, Colo., during the tiremens' tournament 
in 1880.] 



0" 



"^^^ ' ire is my wandering girl to-night?' 
I a gray haired matron who kne! 
pray 
As shade supplanted the fading light, 
" Oh where is my wandering May." 

Oh God! I would meet her to-night once more, 
Though gone from my household — I know not 
where — 

My child as pure as she was of yore, 

With her sparkling eyes and auburn hair. 

wShe went from my home at a stranger's bid 
And never since then have I heard of her — 

From me since then she has e'er been hid — 
She may be far or she may be near. 



no MOSS AGATES. 

The tears well up in my failing eyes 
As I look at the cradle we rocked her in. 

'Tis because of a love that never dies, 

Though she may be leading a life of sin. 

I am tottering down on my gloomy way 

And the world recedes from my troubled sight; 

But I ask, Oh God, as I kneel and pray, 
Bring me my wandering girl to-night. 

Friends came in haste and for her to go — 
'Twas only a block from the mother's door — 

To a refuge sad of sin and woe 

Into which so many had gone before. 

Stretched there on a couch unconscious and cold 
Was her lost one, her own little May, 

And the poor stricken mother with sorrows un- 
told 
Knelt by her dead daughter to pray. 

But e'er scarce began was her fervent prayer. 

And while bowed low was her silvered head 
The death angel came and stood by her there — 

When they raised her the weary one too was 
dead. 



MY WANDERING GIRL. II [ 

And over the tide on the unseen shore 

With its bloom immortal, where all is light, 

In the home where sorrows shall come no more. 
She found her wandering girl that night. 




112 MOSS AGATES. 



AROUND THE CAMP FIRE. 



[Read at Campfire January 7, 1886.] 

COME comrades, sit up in the camp fire's gleam 
Let us talk of old times to-night, 
Old stories we'll tell and ponder and dream 

'Till the gray of the morning light. 
But hark ! what's that — did you hear that sound, 

So familiar to your ears and mine? 
Let's fall in — the foe must be hovering around 
'Way out on the picket line. 

But no, I forget — 'tis a dream sure enough, 

For we sit by the camp fire of peace. 
And the service is now not so weary and rough, 

Nor so chilling the midnight breeze. 
But as we have gathered, our thoughts go back 

And in spirit we march once more 
O'er the muddy roads and the mountain track 

By the river and hill and shore. 



AROUND THE CAMP FIRE. II3 

And we think of the times when we used to get 

Little missives which cheered our Hfe — 
Mothers, perhaps — or more welcome yet, 

From a loving, devoted wife; 
Or perchance from the girl with an angel face 

And a smile that was pure and sweet, 
Whose picture we carried from place to place 

And would wear through the battle's heat. 

Side by side we again at Shiloh 

Quick rally and save the day, 
While on Vicksburg's hills the defiant foe 

Succumb as we march that way. 
We are sweeping once more from i\tlanta 

All the way to the distant sea 
Our flag o'er historic Savannah 

Proudly waves while the foemen flee. 

The " Seven Day's Battles" we fight again 

And on Gettsburg's heights we form ; 
We wheel into line on Antietam's plain 

And charge through the leaden storm. , 

We are fighting again in the wilderness. 

Where full thirty thousand fell, 
Their requiem naught but the minie's hiss 

And shriek of the shrapnel shell. 



114 MOSS AGATES. 

Yes, and again through the gates of Richmond 

The old flag is in victory borne, 
An emblem of peace to the free and bond 

Though its folds were tattered and torn. 
iVppomattox — but why tell the story, 

The grand story of that great day, 
For now o'er the chasm gory 

Clasped hands are "The Blue and the Gray." 




THE TWIN SISTERS 



[At a Banquet in 1884 J 

HEX the white robes of peace o'espread our 
fair land 

And all men in true brotherhood live, 
The press on the picket line watchfully stand 
And the warning of danger will give. 

And swift lines of commerce that stream o'er the 
sea 

And intricate interests of state, 
With all that is dear unto you and to me, 

We'll protect from our post at the gate. 

From these mountains "■ turned up by the plough- 
share of God " 

To the shore of the ocean afar. 
Our voice shall be heard here on liberty's sod, 

That no perils our peacefulness mar. 



Il6 MOSS AGATES. 

When our country's horizon is darkened with 
storm 

And our foes gather thick on the line, 
Then in trumpet-like tones we will give the alarm 

And it shall be ho uncertain sign. 



Then, as in the times past, when the old Union 
flag 

Was imperiled and treated with scorn, 
The soldier, whose firm ardor never shall lag. 

Will not see it tarnished nor torn. 



They will muster again from the river and shore 

And march to the uncertain fray, 
Where the grim cannon's rattle and musketry's 
roar 

Are heard and resound all the dav. 



You shall conquer again and the victory win 
For your country, your flag and your home; 

And when no more is heard the fierce battle's 
dm. 
As now may a reunion come. 



THE TWIN SISTERS. 



117 



Yes, the press and the soldiers, by land and by tide. 

Must united and true ever be ; 
And prove that they are, as they stand side by 
side, 

Twin sisters on liberty's lea. 




Il8 MOSS AGATES. 



DEAD HEROES. 



[At the Cheyenne Cemetery, Decoration Day, 1886.] 

IN a stately pageant we've marched to-day 
To this whisperless city where heroes rest, 
'Neath whose cactus-crowned turf their moldering 
clay 
That men are mortal on earth attest. 
But we came not to call up the silent dead, 

Nor disturb their peaceful and dreamless sleep, 
For oblivious shade o'er their lowly bed 
With its phantom wings shall a vigil keep. 

But garlands of pansies and white immortelles 

In profusion we strew where the dead repose; 
And these of our sorrow the story tells — 

That sorrow which only the soldier knows 
And feels for comrades passed on before 

In the march toward the far away mystic camp 
That \ves o'er the surf, on the further shore — 

Where through its approaches no foemen tramp. 



iDEAD HEROES. I I9 

Who are they — the dead — whom these comrades 
mourn 

And around whose graves we are gathered 
here? 
They were patriots, and children yet unborn 

Shall jewel these mounds with the falling tear. 
When peril hung grim for our country's cause 

And freedom's fabric was ready to fall, 
To protect the flag and enforce the laws 

These men went forth at their country's call. 

Yes, the old Union flag, on many a field 

Was upborne at the cost of human blood 
And many a time, ere the foe would yield, 

Dipped its silken folds in the crimson flood. 
But heroes fought under it — carried it through — 

'Till untorn, without tarnish or stain, 
'Twas lifted by men in the patriot blue 

And unchallenged it floats again. 

These sleeping heroes fought under that flag 
From the bbrders clear down to the sea. 

And ne'er in the strife did their ardor lag 
'Gainst a foe never known to flee. 

And shoulder to shoulder by Richmond's gates 
Thev battled and won at last, 



I20 MOSS AGATES. 

While Confederate valor succumbed to the fates 
In the forces of Union cast. 

Now the angel of peace hovers over our land 

And the foemen of old are side by side; 
Some are wading the ford to the distant strand — 

That field far over the foaming tide — 
And when the last one shall have mustered there 

And they talk of the battles and dangers braved, 
They shall all unite in one common prayer, 

'Twill be: " Thank God for a Union saved." 

Yes, in a stately pageant we've marched to-day 

To this whisperless city where heroes rest, 
'Neath whose cactus-crowned turf their moulder- 
ing clay 

That men are mortal on earth attest. 
While these mountains up turned by the plowshare 
of God 

Shall rise o'er the plain and point up to the sky, 
May the memory of heroes here under this sod 

Be revered and honored and never die. 



MIDNIGHT IN THE VOICELESS 
CITY. 



[The following was composed and noted down on stray 
slips of paper by the author while passing the night in 
the Cheyenne City cemetery several years ago. The 
circumstances will be remembered by many Cheyenne 
people.] 

IN a city still and voiceless 
Where no dwellers throng the street, 
Where the rich, the poor and lowly 
Constantly in silence meet; 
In the stillness of the midnight 
Lone and pensively I roam. 
Pausing only for a moment 
By the grave or at the tomb. 

Midnight in this voiceless city, 

In this precinct of the dead. 

While the earth is wrapped in slumber 

And the stars shine overhead : 



122 MOSS AGATES. 

Sweetly thoughts come o'er me stealing 
Of the future and the past, 
Yet I know we all must slumber 
Here within these gates at last. 

Here the devotees of fashion, 
Men of wealth and men of fame 
Slumber with the unknown beggar — 
He who never had a name. 
For the grave knows no distinction 
'Twixt the princely and the poor; 
In a cold embrace it holds them 
Until time shall be no more. 

Sleeping here in bridal costume 
Lies at rest the new made bride, 
Blooming at the radient morning. 
Lowly laid at even'tide. 
Here the old, the fair haired children 
And the little unclaimed waif. 
From all fears and cares carroding 
Emancipated here and safe. 

Like a silent sent'nel standing. 
Phantom wings outstretched and pale, 
Watches here the grim death angel 
Over all ''within the vale." 



THE VOICELESS CITY. 1 23 

Here the shades of cold obHvion 
Fall around this sleeping dust; 
And forever, yes, forever, 
Here shall keep its sullen trust. 

Here within this voiceless city 
All save one beneath the sod. 
Marring not this place of resting 
Where at midnight none e'er trod. 
Sad and aimlessly I wander 
By each monumental stone. 
Musing over life's great myst'ry 
As I walk these streets alone. 

Do these sleepers ever waken? 
Are no spectres ever seen ? 
Flitting through this voicelss city, 
'Mid its foliage of green. 
Speak not voices oft at midnight 
From the portals of the tomb? 
Are there sounds, deep and sepulchral, 
Ever heard or do they come ? 

No! these dead do never waken; 
Walk they on this earth no more ; 
Walk they with cherubic legions 
On the far off palm tree shore. 



124 MOSS AGATES. 

'Tis but whims of purest fancy 
Or the sigh of summer winds, 
Or perchance may be the outgrowth 
Of disturbed or weary minds. 

There's a city of the Hving — 
And its ghmmering lights I see- — 
Near this still and voiceless city 
With its gloom and mystery. 
In this city of the living, 
All is gayety and joy ; 
Known is now to all its den'zens 
Peace and hope without alloy. 

Yet, as musing 'mong these sleepers 
In this city on the hill, 
Thinking of the past and future 
And while all around is still ; 
Looking at this living city — 
After many years are gone 
Shall not then this silent city 
And its sister both be one? 

Midnight in this voiceless city 
As with falt'ring steps and slow, 
These thoughts are whispering to me 
As I wander to and fro. 



THE VOICELESS CITY. 1 25 

And something seems to tell me, 
To my thrice reluctant ear, 
Many from that living city 
May ere long be resting here. 

In a city still and voiceless 

Where no dwellers throng the street, 

Where the rich, the poor and lowly 

Constantly in silence meet; 

In the stillness of the midnight 

I am w^and'ring here alone. 

Pausing only for a moment 

At each monumental stone. 




126 MOSS AGATES. 



THIS CORNER STONE. 



I Placed in the Corner Stone of the Union Pacific Depot, 
1886.] 

MAY he who displaces this corner stone, 
By dynamite bomb or by vandal's hand, 
Be consigned to a dungeon dreary and lone 
Or the "lock step" keep in a felons' band; 
For the structure raised over this granite block 
A monument grand shall ever be 
To the worth, as solid as e'en this rock, 
Of the Union Pacific Company. 

While the cycling years roll swiftly by 
Shall this coming structure tower on high; 
Though a century pass may it yet rise here 
Unmarred by the storms of each fleeting year. 
May it never crumble, decay or fall 
Until shall be heard the last trumpet's call, 
Proclaiming on continent, sea and shore 
That time forever shall be no more. 



OUR LITTLE FRANKIE. 



[Written bv request of friends and inscribed to Mr. 
and Mrs. John Shingle on the death of their little son.] 

PAUSE by the side of the little white casket, 
With its immortelle anchor and floral dis- 
play, 
But disturb not a flower nor a single green leaflet; 
Think a moment of hearts that are bleeding to- 
day. 

Gaze on the face of the little j^ale sleeper 

With its beautiful calmness and angelic smile, 

Though the spirit has gone to the arms of its 
maker, 
It fled uncorroded unsullied by guile. 

They tell you the flower is withered and faded 
iVnd the bloom has gone out of the soft little 
cheek. 



128 MOSS AGATES. 

That the pride and the hope of your Hfe is o'er 
shadowed 
By a sorrow that tongue cannot murmer or 
speak. 

But no! though removed to the dim land of mys- 
t'ry 

That Hes far away on the untrodden shore, 
'Tis only a fleeing from time to eternity; 

Little Frankie now lives where death is no more. 



Where angelic choristers stand by the river 
And cherubic legions in unison sing, 

He has found a sweet home in the golden for- 
ever, 
A gem in the crown of our Father and King. 

When the twilight of life shall o'ercast the hori- 
zon 
And your feet totter down where the gray wil- 
lows wave, 
When at last you shall reach the dark foaming 
Rubicon, 
Do not be appalled at the gloom of the grave. 



OUR LITTLE FRANKIE. 



129 



For Frankie will come from over the billows — 
Come to you there from the opposite side — 

And pilot you o'er from the shore of the willows 
To that city which stands where the life waters 
glide. 

Once more, in a home where death ne'er shall enter, 
You shall dwell w^ith him in a sorrowless land 
Where the flowers ever bloom in perennial sum- 
mer — 
In a mansion prepared by our Father's own 
hand. 




130 MOSS AGATES. 



GATHERING FLOWERS AT THE 
PICNIC. 



To Miss Florence Hurlbut. 
[The following was based on an incident occurring at 
Johnson's Island, Colorado, and was written several years 
ago, when the now Mrs. John F. Carroll was a little girl, 
and was dedicated to her:] 

'^n COME with nie," the little maid said, 

(J " Where the lillies grow and the roses red; 
Wreathes we'll entwine of ever}- hue, 
And one shall be mine and one for you." 

[ looked at the face of the little maid fair 
Just shaded with tresses of golden hair — 
Bright was her smile and her laughing eyes 
Glistened like stars in the evening skies. 

Taking the proffered hand in mme, 
Under the shade of the oak and pine 
Side by side we wandered afar, 
Where the violets bloom and the roses are. 



GATHERING FLOWERS. I3I 

Flowers we plucked that grew by the stream 
And sparkle with dew in the morning's beam ; 
And the heart of that little maid was gay 
While gathering beautiful flowers that day. 

"O, why should it be that the flowers will fade ?" 

With a pensive voice the little maid said. 

" If beautiful always they would bloom 

I never should know when the winters come."'"' 



Again in the face of the little maid fair 
I loeked, but a shadow was resting there ; 
And she twirled the flowers in her tiny hand 
And scattered their leaflets o'er the sand. 



'Twas only a moment the shadow stayed; 
Then happy again was the little maid, 
But I thouo^ht and mused as thoug-h in a dream, 
While wandering on by the marge of the stream 



Gathering flowers through a trackless wild; 
Down to the grave from a little child. 
To some they bloom and yever decav ; 
To others thev fade and wither awav. 



132 MOSS AGATES. 

'Tis thus we journey and thus we go, 
Some in happiness others in woe; 
For many the flo^wers shall always bloom ; 
To more shall the dreary winters come. 

When the winters come with their frosts and 

shade, 
Secure from their blasts be that little maid; 
Though I shall roam on a storm beat shore. 
For her mav the flowers bloom evermore. 




PATRIOT SOLDIERS. 



[Composed expressly for and recited by the author at 
the great camp fire held by the John F. Reynolds Post 
at Keefe hall on the evening of January 6, 1887, and at 
the Encampment of the Department of Colorado and 
Wyoming, 1887. 

ROLL back the tide of centuries past! 
Behold proud kingdoms rise and fall I 
See empires wane and sink at last 

At time's deep-toned insatiate call, 
The throne cast down, the ruined shrine — 
Mark how they dot the century line. 

So should it be; whate'r's unjust 
To man, shall mingle with the dust 
Which gathers in time's lengthened span 
Where man hath tyrannized o'er man: 



134 MOSS AGATES. 

Yet from the ages rolled away 
A beacon light to guide the free 

Springs up where ignorance held sway 
As coral isles rise from the sea. 

Thus hath it been; in wisdom gained 

From lands where man hath been enchained 

In Old World's bondage, dire and dread, 

That sepulcher of living dead, 

Our Fathers builded wise and well 

A temple strong 'mid dangers fell 

And founded on this western shore 

A country grand forevermiore. 

Moving on like spectral phantoms 
Nations pass in solemn line 
Through the vista of the centuries. 
Guided by a Power Devine. 
In this panoramic pageant 
Past the gloom of kmgdoms wrecked, 
Grandly moves our own republic, 
Peace endowed and glory decked. 

O'er the stifliing mists of darkness, 
O'ei the fallen tyrant's tomb 
Shines the unsullied light of liberty — 
Vanished superstition's gloom; 



PATRIOT SOLDIERS. 1 35 

O'er our land and grlorious Union 
Fredom's radiant flag unfurled, 
Still our country stands, the asylum 
For the oppressed of all the world. 

Patriot soldiers of Columbia, 

You who led the Union van — 
You who wore the proud insignia 

Of liberty to every man — 
You vvho placed a grand inscription 

On the banners which you bore 
And with bright, unstained escutcheon, 

Periled life in Freedom's war. 

Do you see the sword uplifted 

Aiming at your countries life? 
See our land dismembered — rifted— 

Torn by fratricidal strife. 
vSee you this in dark retrospect 

As backward down the <risle of years 
You gaze — see you the Union shipwrecked — 

Swayed with alternate hopes and fears? 

Yes, again 'round grim old Sumpter 

Rains the storm of shat and shell ; 
Stoutest hearts grow faint and falter 

When that blow, unluoked for, fell. 



136 MOSS AGATES. 

vSinks the old flag, torn and tattered, 
While the Palmetto ei-nblem there 

O'er its walls by ruin shattered 
Flaunts defiant in the air. 

Strong: as blow the ocean* trade winds 

O'er the sea or 'gainst the shore, 
Quick as simoon from the northlands 

Breaks with fierce and sullen roar, 
To disunion doom presaging 

While the hosts of freedom rise - 
Hear the storm of conflict raging — • 

See, smoke-clouds obscure the skies. 

'Twas not for fame nor love of glory 

Patriots fought and patriots died. 
Yet their names shall live in story 

Till time shall reach its e\ entide. 
The}' fought, with blood they paid the ransom, 

Till the old flag from plain to strand, 
Now unchallenged, floats in freedom 

O'er an undivided land. 

We have gathered to-night in this campfire's gl 
'Til the gray of thje coming morning; 

Our pickets called in, for we fear no foe 
And we need not the vidette's warning; 



ow 



PATRIOT SOLDIERS. 1 37 

For this is the camp of the peaceful home 
Where is heard not the sound of battle, 

The roar and the howl of the midnight bomb, 
Xor the musketry's crash and rattle. 

We shall fight no more on the Wilderness front, 

Xor the roads corduroy to Yorktown; 
Xor repel again in the battle's brunt 

The flank moves of '' Stonewall Jackson," 
We shall never go up with Hooker again 

'Mong the storm clouds of Lookout Mountain, 
Xor charge the gray host on Antietam's plain 

Where blood run like streams from a fountain. 

At dark Seven Pines we'll "go in" no more 

With Phil Kearney, Howard and Sumner, 
Xor Buckner enshroud on the Cumberland's shore 

Where Donelson's braves surrender. 
We shall march ne'er again on the " Union Trail" 

From Atlanta down to the ocean, 
Xor at Gettysburg face that iron '• death hail " 

With a patriots stern devotion. 

Xo, 'tis only in memory we see them now. 
These scenes of the long fierce struggle, 

For in friendship's constant pledge and vow, 
The '^Blue and the Gra\'" now mingle. 



138 MOSS AGATES. 

And the angel of peace broods over the land, 
Cer the hill and the shore and the valley, 

And never again shall a hostile band 
In the name of disunion rallv. 

But to-night as we bask in this campfire's glow 

Our hearts feel a weight of sorrow. 
To our fallen comrades they backward go 

And our tears shall their memory hallow ; 
For away in that land where the whippoorwill 
notes 

Break soft on the air iit midnight 
And the zephyr's voice in the woodland floats. 

They are sleeping in death's dim twilight. 

We shall drink no more from "the same canteen" 

Nor divide up the last hard cracker. 
For the're tenting to-night in that camp unseen 

By the flow of the Jasper river. 
VVe too shall tent on that shadowless lea 

When the last reveille has sounded, 
And a campfire hold near the crystal sea 

By comrades of old surrounded; 
And Grant will be there with Loganand Mead, 

And when ranks are all formed anew 
Each shall ride down the lines on a phantom steed 

In eternity's great review. 



BEYOND THE TWILIGHT. 

[The following is respectfully inscribed to James Oder, 
his brothers and sisters at St. Joseph, Mo., on the death 
of Robert Oder, having been written in compliance ,vith 
the request of friends in Cheyenne:] 

THEY have laid him to rest by the ceaseless flow 
Of the tide of a western river, 
Where the autumn winds whisper soft and low 
That "his slumber shall be forever." 

Yes, Robert has gone from this life away 

To the realms of eternal iTiorning, 
And vou sorrow and weep for a brother to-day 

With the past to your minds returning. 

Ne'er again to meet him, as when in years 

Now gone, when these in childhood, 
When you played together 'mid smiles and tears 
Throug^h the long- sunnv davs of bovhood. 



140 MOSS AGATES. 

In all the land no nobler boy 

Than the brother of yours departed 

Ever lived — his life v/ithout alloy — 
So kind and so generous hearted. 

Yet you look away from this twilight strand 

To the land of summer eternal, 
Where the whisperless tide gilds the golden sand 

Of the shores ever bright and vernal; 
And you see him again on the palm tree shore, 

Your Robert, in glory standing; 
To "the land of the leal" he beckons you o'er — '- 

O'er the surf to the crystal landing 



THE OLD PIPE. 



YES, boys, I'll admit it don't look well 
To be smoking that rusty old pipe; 
But I want to explain all about it — 
For I tell you I'm one of that stripe 
That will stand by an old friend, no matter 
What people may think or may say; 
And there's naught in the world I can count on 
But this pipe I am smoking today. 

I've no cattle, no sheep nor fast horses, 
And of course have no "wealth" in the bank; 
For the ticket I've held in life's lotterv 
Has somehow turned up as a blank. 
I don't mean that I wasn't by nature 
Given something to carry me through; 
But, in fact, as to stamps and the cattle 
I'm out, and you know it is true. 



142 MOSS AGATES. 

I can see when matters are run right — 

When our President does what is just 

And our Congressmen 'tend to their duty — 

r can tell you, in fact, whom to trust; 

But when it comes down to the w^ealth, boys, 

As you know, one and all, I'm not there. 

I've not got the "stamps," and won't get them 

Except it is done on .the square. 

In regard to this old pipe, I'll tell you 

What a friend and companion it's been: 

For years I have carried it always 

And smoked it through thick and through thin. 

And I tell you I'll never discard it 

Xor hide it from sight on the street; 

Xo matter at all whom I see there 

I'll smoke, and no odds whom I meet. 

For years, because I lacked the money, 
I've been ostracized, sneered at and snubbed, 
And have been, I am sure, for this reason 
With all sorts of bad epithets dubbed. 
I'm a wanderer so far as society 
Will extend to a fellow a show; 
But there's one thinof I've g^ot to be fflad of-- 
I have never intruded, you know. 



THE OLD PIPE. 143 

Then, boys, I've been down by the river 
Where the dark, troubled waters run deep; 
And I've gro^^ed thro' the shadowy valley 
Where the dead for eternity sleep; 
But through all my faults and misfortunes, 
With no friends and no hopes that would cheer. 
That old pipe, boys, has been my companion — 
This rusty old pipe I have here. 

No, boys, I will tell you now truly. 

It is all that I have m this life — 

Nothing else is there here for my comfort; 

I've no kindred, no children nor wife, 

And there's one thing I want you to promise — 

Laugh at it or think wdiat you may — 

When they "plant" me put down by mv coffin 

This old pipe I am smoking today. 



144 



MOSS AGATES. 



THE OLD COMMANDER. 



[At the Grant Memorial Services at Cheyenne Opera 
House, August 8, 1885.] 

^' T IGHTS out" has been blown! 'twas th 
]j Great Captain's bugle call, 
And the tent of our grand Old Commander is 
still. 
Grant, the tried hero, though not to the musket 
ball, 
Surrendered in peace to Omnipotent will. 



Muffle the snare drum and sack cloth the cannon 
wheels. 

And dip the old flag as the pageant goes by; 
Noiselessly tread, for the heart of each soldier feels 

Sad, as we in spirit his casket draw nigh. 



THE OLD COMMANDER. I45 

No more shall we see him in camp or on battle 
field, 
Nor hear his command to " move by the left 
flank I" 
No more, as when fiercely the cannons' loud thun- 
der pealed. 
To ride and inspire each wavering rank. 

Yet stay I we can see him — behold him in retro- 
spect 
At Belmont and Donelson,. victor once more; 
And on Shiloh's dark field, which his glory shall 
e'er reflect, 
The foe is hurled back from the Tennessee 
shore 

At Raymond he triumphs, while Vicksburg sur- 
renders ; 
Rock-ribbed Mission ridge now succumbs to his 
blow — 
By the swift Rapidan his artillery thunders. 
Presaging the doom of a brave, hostile foe. 

I can see him aga^n in the blood-baptized Wilder- 
ness 
Riding through the dense pines and the thick 
chapparal ; 



146 MOSS AGATES. 

Though his army is shattered — undismayed and 
still dauntless 
Fights it out on that line with sword, bullet and 
shell. 



On Petersburg's hills and the red slopes of Rich- 
mond 
lie conquer.^ again, and the yic'try is won — 
Where brave men in conflict went down by the 
thousand 
And thick battle smoke hid the lip-ht of the sun. 



On the ensanguined plain of far off Appomatox 
The foemen surrender — the last die is cast — 

No more war's alarms, sounds of conflict and bat- 
tle shock 
Shall be heard in the land — they are over at last. 

Oh, noblest trait of this earth's grandest manhood! 

Magnanimous then to Confederate sons. 
'^We are countrymen now," said he, "and in 
brotherhood ; 

Fire no salute, colonel! Silence the guns!" 



THE OLD COMMANDER. 1 47 

" Let us have peace," said U. S. Grant to the 
Nation; 
When as president he in our councils held 
sway. 
'Twas accomplished, 'twas vouchsafed, this hoped 
for fruition — 
In unison now march the Blue and the Gray, 

But on green Mount McGreger, in life's final 
struggle, 
Our Commander has fallen- -gone home with 
the blest. 
Muffle the snare drum — blow softlv the bugle — 
Blow softly the bugle, disturb not his rest. 

Farewell, old Commander. vSleep, sleep by the 
riverside. 
Where the Hudson ilows down on its course to 
the sea. 
The roll of its waters, that ceaselessly onward 
glide, 
And laments of a world shall your requiem be. 

But no I there's a camp by the marge of the river 
That noiselessly sweeps on eternity's plain, 



148 MOSS AGATES. 

Where pitched is the tent of our brave Old Com- 
mander. 
And in visions and in dreams we can see him 
again. 

Where pale phantom heroes fall in at the bugle 
sign, 
With Sedgwick, McPherson, Phil Kearney and 
Meade. 
He is still riding on in the wan soldier battle line 
Which the grand Old Commander forever shall 
lead. 






THE OLD CHURCH. 

[Composed for the occasion and read at the farewell 
services held in the old Congregational Church, Decem- 
ber 5, 1883.] 

GOODBYE, old church! at length the time 
When we must part with you has come. 
We pass from out this door away, 
Thy old gray walls leave to decay. 
Yet still we pause — we linger here 
And shed for thee a farewell tear 
Thou cannot to our mem'ries die. 
Good bye, old church! good bye! good bye! 

The years may roll till lost to view 
All vestige of thy form ; yet true 
To memories of the sacred past 
Which sweep before as thick and fast, 



150 MOSS AGATES. 

We oft in spirit shall return, 

And in our bosoms still shall burn 

A love that speaks with moistened eye. 

Good bye, old church! good bye! good bye 

Thou bast to us our refuge been 
While weary and oppressed with sin. 
Within these walls we leave to-night 
Undimmed has burned a beacon light 
That o'er our path has ever shone, 
To guide us toward the Master's throne — 
A pilot to our home on high. 
Goodbye, old church! goodbye! goodbye! 

With heavy hearts we leave thee now 
Old house, but to His will we bow, 
Yet gathered here to come no more, 
While pilgrims toward that better shore. 
Sweet symptoms of music bring 
The past to mind and still we cling 
To thee and sadly breath the sigh — 
Goodbye, old church! goodbye! goodbye! 

Here 'round the altar oft we've met 
With friends, though gone we see them yet, 
And oft partaken at this shrine 
Of bread and sacrificial wine. 



THE OLD CHURCH. I5I 

Where are they- now? gone from this earth, 
Passed o'er the Rubicon of death. 
With us they whisper from on high, 
Goodbye, old church ! goodbye! goodbye! 

From out these doors the new made bride 
Has passed to mingle with the tide 
Of life, whose waves uncertain wend, 
Yet roll to their appointed end. 
Here to the wand'ring, wayward one 
Has often come when ho|De was gone. 
Such say to-night and with us vie. 
Goodbye, old church! goodbye! goodbye! 

And thronging here these bygone years, 
The old and young 'mid hopes and fears 
Have by this sacred alter stood 
And sought the way that leads to Gt)d. 
Oh may they all when time is passed 
Be gathered in the fold at last — 
The fold that's built for you and I. 
Goodbve, old church! goodbye! goodbye. 

Goodbye, old church — no more we'll meet 
Where cluster here such memories sweet; 
We pass from out thy door away — 
Thy old gray walls leave to decav. 



152 



MOSS AGATES. 



Our heartfelt sorrow none can tell 
As you we bid our last farewell. 
We only speak with moistened eye — 
Goodbye old church! goodbye I goodbye! 




NEWARK STREET. 



X spirit oft I joiirnev still 

Along the slopes of Hnrtwell hill 
Where in the by-gone boyhood days 
I joined the urchins in their plays. 
The little church — the school house old- — 
I once again their spires behold 
As long" ao^o when life was sweet 
1 wandered through old Newark vStreet. 

And to my vision oft appears 
Like sunbeams from the fleeting years, 
Faces of old — they seem to come 
And welcome me to that old home 
Of those who long ago were dead. 
I seem to hear their noiseless tread 
As when of old they came to greet 
Me in the walks of Newark Street. 



54 MOSS AGATES. 

I see the swallows swiftly fly, 
Again I hear the linnet's cry — 
And romping- on the village green 
The children at their plays are seen ; 
And from the fields across the way 
Come slowly loads of new mow^n hay. 
At open doors again I meet 
Friends of my youth in New^ark Street. 

And yet while coming o'er and o'er 
These faces^ I shall see no more, 
I wake and understand w^hat seems 
Reality, comes but in dreams; 
And to those scenes 'neath Hartw^ell hill 
Where sacred recollections dwell, 
As long ago T must repeat: 
Farewell to you, old Newark Street. 



wmmwmm 



THE GREAT SPIRITS FACE IS DARK 



HERE once roamed the warlike red men, 
But their conncil fires are low; 
Soon they'll cease to burn forever — 
Soon expire their fitful glow; 
Falls their power before the paleface — 
" The Great Spirit's face is dark." 
Of the old time war path glory 
Scarce remains a vital spark. 

Soon they'll journey grimly onward 

To that reservation vast, 

"Vhich remains for them u needed 

When the chase of life is past. 

Their canoes e'en now are pointed 

Toward that shore whence comes no sound- 

lil 

Where they'll pitch their wolf-skin tepees 
In the "Happy Hunting Ground." 



[s6 MOSS AGATES. 



LITTLE MAC. 







NCE again has the grini^ pale harvester 
Fallen in where the veterans tramp, 
And has gone with our first commander, 

"Little Mac," to the mystic camp. 
He has passed by the wan picket outpost 

And has given the true countersign, 
And pitched is his tent where a patriot host 

Bivouac on eternity's line. 

Yes; McClellan, his soldiers' ideal 

Of the chivalrous patriot knight. 
Their faith and their watchward in battle, 

Their rallying cry m the fight, 
Has fallen asleep, ne'er to waken. 

And succumbed to the greatest of foes; 
And in peace which shall never be broken, 

Laid at rest where the Delaware flows. 



LITTLE MAC. ' 157 

When the storm-cloud of warfare and contest 

Swept through the whole length of our land, 
And the old Union ship in the tempest 

Was approaching the lee, shore and strand, 
Little Mac cut in twain Old Dominion 

Which through the whole land sent a thrill. 
And brought the west half to the Union 

By his courage and consummate skill. 

Who created and trained that grand army 

Which the final and great triumph gained; 
And the flag, in defeat and in victory 

Ever carried untarnished — unstained? 
'Twas McClellan, whose loss we are mourning, 

Who gave it a prestige an name 
Which, as bright as the sun m the morning, 

Shall e'er shine on the tablet of fame. 

I can see him once more vvith that legion 

As we charged through the dark vSeven Pines, 
And at Yorktown, Williamsburg, Malvern, 

As victor ride down the long lines. 
He triumphs again at South Mountain, 

And the foemen its rocky crest yield ; 
And though blood flowed like streams from a 
fountain 

Saves the Union on Antietam's lield. 



158 MOSS AGATES. 

But Little Mac's battles are ended ; 

He will marshal his hosts no more 
'Neath the flag he so nobly defended 

By the distant Potomac's shore. 
He has passed by the wan picket outposts 

And has given the true countersign 
And pitched now his tent where a patriot host 

Bivouac on eternity's hue. 




THE DEAR OLD CRADLE. 



[Dedicated to Mr. and Mrs. Henry Houseman— Pub 
lished in 18S3.] 

MOTHER, as I came along home to-night 
I paused for a moment way down the street, 
And while I stood there in the fading^ li^ht 

Thoughts came to my mind both bitter and 
sweet ; 
•'And, wife, when I thought of the years now fled 

I couldn't restrain the falling tears. 
And back o'er the pathway my mem'ry sped — 
Clear back on a journey of thirty years. 

"And I think of our Willie, our black eyed boy 
That we buried back there on Rock Island's 
hill- 

Our rirst little darling, our pride and joy — 
Our own little Willie — I see him still. 



l6o MOSS AGATES. 

To-night I go back on the wings of thought, 
And, mother, I think how it might have been; 

And a gHmpse once more in my dreams I've 
caught 
Of the dear old cradle we rocked him in. 

"• Now, mother, keep quiet — just let me speak 

And when I get through — why, then you can 
talk. 
I don't know but some folks would call me weak. 

But all such people can take a walk. 
Had our Willie lived to become a man 

What a help to me, for I tell you, wife. 
Though I'm trying to do the best I can 

I begin to grow sick of this world's hard strife. 

" I know that the others are dear to us 

That we rocked in that cradle where we rocked 
Will, 
And it might have been prob'ly a great deal worse 

For our child now asleep on that distant hill; 
For the world is bad, so the preachers say, 

Though I don't believe more than half the\- 
preach — 
Our Willie, perhaps, would have gone astray 

In spite of the good that j' ok could teach." 



THE DEAR OLD CRADLE. l6l 

"Well, Henry, 1 often am thinking too 

Of Willie, who 'eft us so long ago. 
I dream of him, Henry, the same as you — 

Our fiist born darling — we loved him so. 
Though many long years have rolled around 

Bringing to both of us joy and pain, 
Yet in fancy I hear it--the creaking sound 

Of that dear old cradle we rocked him in. 

"And a good many times when the shadows fall, 

While the night creeps 'round our quiet home 
Bringing its needed rest to all, 

My heart to his little grave will roam. 
But, Henry, 'twill never do to grieve 

Let's remember, while here on this earth we 
dwell. 
These words of Scripture — they give relief; 

You know them: "Hedoeth all things well." 

"Wait, mother, right there! Pm half inclined 

To think there's a good deal in that book 
To use a slang phrase I've now in mind. 

That's nonsense and but the merest "truck." 
When I think how Willie was taken away, 

Our black eyed boy, there undef the sod- 
Sometimes to myself, at least, 1 say : 

I doubt verv much if there is a God." 



l62 MOSS AGATES. 

"Henry, stop right there! dont talk such stuff. 

Though Willie is here in our mem'ry yet; 
While the way seems rugged and sometimes rough, 

And his little grave we shall not forget — 
There's a God, I am sure — a God of love — 

Though all of His ways we perhapse don't see, 
He rules over all, below and above, 

And has built a mansion for you and me. 



"Don't you remember that time gone by? 

Let me see— 'twas past thirty years ago 
When together we walked — ^yes, you and I, 

And you spoke some words that were soft and 
low; 
You promised me then not to prove untrue. 

And invoked the Deity's chastening rod; 
Though all unseen and bidden from view. 

You thought then, Henry, there was a God. 



" vSee that hand, Henry, then round and fair? 

It's rough and shriveled and faded now 
And the threads of silver are in the hair 

That clusters around mv wrinkled brow; 



THE DEAR OLD CRADLE. 1 63 

But I gave you, Henry, that little hand 

And have ever since journeyed close by \ our 
side 

As happy as any in all the land. 

Ne'er regretting the day I became your bride. 

" We have sometimes had our spats, of course, 

As husband and wife v^^ill always do ; 
But we took each other for better or worse. 

I was often wrong and so were you. 
And although the pathway was sometimes hard 

We have traveled on through smiles and tears; 
And you know, Henry, we're now on the road 

That is leading us down the declining years. 

" There are left to us, Henry, our children dear, 

We rocked in the cradle where Willie lay ; 
They are married and living around us here 

And we ought to be happy the livelong day. 
I had rather our Willie should sleep in the grave 

Than to see him fall in the world's hard strife 
As he might have done, with no power to save 

From leading a low or a drunkard's life. 

"Yes, Henry, together we've both grown old 
As hand in hand we have traveled on 

United by ties more precious than gold 
Until the journey is almost done. 



[64 MOSS AGATES. 

We shall soon pass down to the river's shore 
And float o'er the surf to our distant home 

Where sorrow and parting will come no more, 
To wait till the rest of our loved ones come. 

" And when we pass through the open gates, 

Right close to the entrance, we'll find him there. 
For Willie I know^ for our coming waits — 

Our black eyed Willie so bright and fair; 
And Henry, we'll find him there just the same — 

Just as pure and sweet and free from sin 
As when long ago he first tottering came 

From that dear old cradle we rocked him iu." 




THE CONTINGENT FUND. 



HAVE you heard! have you heard! 
Of our last legislature? 
The eleventh one in number 

Is the one that I mean. 
Not in the past and I doubt 
If in the future 
A liner class of members 
In Assembly will be seen. 

But when the Solons came to 

The contingency question 

They had a falling out — 
Failed to compromise at all. 

The question was the size 

Of the fund appropriation. 

Some claimed it was too large- 
Others said it was to small. 



1 66 MOSS AGATES. 

On the question of bigger or smaller, 
They couldn't agree if they'd try, 

And between six bits and a dollar 
Both houses adjourned sine die. 




IN THE SOUP. 



THE sherriff went into the jail one day 
To hear what the prisoners had to say; 
He found them all in a terrible flurry — 
Both tramp and pickpocket seemed in a worry. 
The sherriff flew into a furious rage 
And instantly ordered them into the "cage." 
"What means this," he yelled — they replied from 

the " coop " 
"Great Caesar, the bean has got into the soup!" 



68 MOSS AGATES. 



EMANCIPATION DAY. 



[Read at an Emancipation Celebration in 1884.] 

A RACE was enslaved, and for two hundred 
years 
It had pleaded in vain in bondage and tears 
For the freedom belonging- to all men by right; 
But the plea availed not through that pro-slavery 



night, 



But stay— there's a conflict — the old Union rocks 
From circumference to center by stern battle 

shocks ; 
VV^hile Abraham I^incoln speaks forth to the nation 
In the immortal words of the great proclamation: 
"All men shall be free, and the Union unbroken 
Shall be preserved," were the words that were 

spoken ; 
" The clanking- of slave-chains shall be heard never 

more. 
For lib'rtv must rule the American shore." 



EMANCIPATION DAY. 1 69 

Then freedom's loud battle-cry stirred the whole 

land 
From the rivers and lakes to the far ocean's strand. 
Fain to fight for the Union came brave men and 

true 
While white and black both wore the patriot blue. 

The contest is ended — and enslaved men are free— 
And our flag floats in peace o'er the land and on 

sea 
And peans of joy are now heard in the place 
Where once rose the cries of a slaverv-doomed 

race. 

And this day shall ever in history live, 
For colored men all shall their grand tribute give 
To Lincoln and Grant, now asleep in their graves, 
For the word and the sword that made free men 
of slaves. 



170 MOSS AGATES 



GOODBYE, OLD TOWN. 



[The following was written after the author had set the 
day for his departure from Cheyenne. As a singular 
illustration of the fact that situations are not always what 
thev seem to be, it may be mentioned that the day but 
one following that on which these lines were written he 
was unanimously placed in nomination for the position 
which he now holds — not by his own but by the other 
political party— and elected b^' the highest vote given to 
any of the candidates in the field for that particular office, 
although the authors political convictions were well 
known and explained by him to the convention making 
the nomination:] 

p OODBYE, old town ! shadows of night, 

\j Like Cossacks, chase the fading light 

From out my room devoid of cheer, 

Wherein fanciful shapes appear 

And thoughts born of sepulchral gloom 

Unbidden to my spirit come; 

For soon the hour — at hand the day — 

When I'll be roaming far away. 



GOODBYE, OJLD TOWN. 171 

Goodbye, old town! and unto you 
To-night I breathe a last adieu — 
Here once my hopes were anchored all 
Ere spectre hands wrote on the wall; 
Long years I've sought, yet all in vain, 
Th' inscription to re-write again — 
Though men may float where waters glide 
'Tis hard to pull against the tide. 

Goodbye, old town ! yet thoughts torment 
That to my troubled mind are sent — 
Though misconceived my walk and life 
A monster grim I met in strife; 
No crime I wrought, except I left 
The grave of one tenant bereft — 
While better men fell by the way 
Demons I cheated of their prey. 

Goodbye, old town! no tears I shed 
At leaving thee, since hopes are dead — 
Tears are the things I do not crave — 
To these I ne'er have been a slave. 
From out this cheerless room I go — 
Sarcophagus of childish woe — 
To roam where ostracism's breath 
May no more'be my living death. 



1^2 MOSS AGATES. 

Goodbye, old town! what seem to be 
But ill spent years I leave with thee. 
Both to m}^ friends and foes I bid 
An unreluctant, swift God speed — 
Friendship to all, malice to none, 
In thought I leave you, one by one. 
Old town! while 'tis my last adieu 
My heart will oft return to you ; 
For soon the hour— at hand the day— 
When Pll be roaming far away. 




COME TO THE BAL MASQUE, 



COME one and come all 
To the masquerade ball 
Which we printers are giving to-night; 
And dance while you're there 
With the ladies so fair 
From dark till the morning's gray light. 

Yes, come and attend — 

Your assistance please lend- 
For we are a jolly brave crew ; 

And we work night and dav 

Tiring not in the way 
Of type-setting the gossip for you. 

We shall have the best band 
To be found in the land 
That will render good music and sweet; 



174 MOSS AGATES. 

Decorations profuse 
We shall purchase and use, 
And in no respect will we be beat. 

We've but one life to live 

And 'tis better to give 
Than receive, we have oft heard it said; 

Then smile while you can 

Every lady and man, 
And attend our grand ball masquerade. 




A HYMN. 



Tune — Jesus Lover of My Soul. 

[Written on the spur of the moment at the request of 
supposed crank, to whom a copy wss given ] 

LIFE IS flitting fast away; 
Soon we'll pass this desert drear, 
Though we journey day hy day 

Where the leaves are dead and sear; 
Yet in Heaven there is a home 

Where our Father dwells on high, 
And He bids His children come 
To His mansions m the sky. 

What is life without the star 
Shining on our earthly road? 

Pointing toward the "gates ajar" 
Leading to the throne of God. 



1^6 MOSS AGATES. 

Let us, then, though pilgrims now, 
Heed the Mastei's changeless word; 

Soon our souls he will endow 
And our faithfulness reward. 

Let no dark forebodings speak 

To our souls — be not afraid — 
Mortal man is blind and weak, 

Still our trust in God is staid. 
Christ himself will come again 

To the ransomed here below. 
And in triumph he will reign 

Where the livinof waters flow. 




NOT GONE FOREVER. 



[Written by request of the Old Pioneer organization on 
the death of Mrs. Samuel Sparhawk.] 

INTO the shadows of mystery flitting 
From this storm beaten shore to a land far 
away — 
Gone is her spirit, all sorrow forgetting — 

'Tis but dust that in sadness we follow to-day. 

Not emblems of mourning — sad symbols of sor- 
row — 
Could picture the grief of that desolate heart 
When over her life fell the veil and the shadow 
And came the sad message: "From her you 
must part." 

But let not the gloom of the grave e'er appal you. 
This — this is not death, 'tis the morning of life — 



178 MOSS AGATES. 

The soul has the valley triumphantly passed 
through — 
Shelives far removed from all cares and all strife. 



To the loved ones ^w ho mourn for a mother de- 
parted 

She whispers to them in their sorrow^ and pain : 
" Oh, weep not for me and be not broken-hearted ; 

In our Father's own home I will meet you again. 

For him who to-day mourns his chosen companion 
With whom he has journeyed for many long 
years 
From the bloom and the flowers of youth's sunny 
region — 
On whose head the white frost of winter ap- 
pears, 

There is comfort, as here in the gorge of life's 
foothills 
That lie at the base of the snowy divide, 
(Though it seems to him full the measure of sor- 
row fills), 
She is with him in spirit and walks by his side. 



NOT GONE FOREVER. 1 79 

By the hand she will lead him across the steep 
mountain 
To the prairie that lies in perennial bloom — 
Where the waters of life ever flow from the foun- 
tain 
To a rest there forever at peace and at home. 




8o MOSS AGATES. 



THE OLD AMERICAN HOUSE. 



[Dedicated to the Cheyenne Fire Department and mem- 
bers of the First Wyoming Legislature who supported 
the Woman Suffrage bill.] 

DID you hear the sound of the whistle and bell? 
Loud breaking in on the midnight air! 
And list! 'mid the din to that sudden yell, 
'Tis that dread alarm! 'tis the cry of '^HreF' 

^^F'ire! fire! lire! fire!" ho^\■ the cry rings out, 

Rousing up people all over the town. 
"■'Tis the American House!"" is the prolonged 

shout- 
"The old-time land mark is going down!'' 

"Let's rally and save it, for God's sake, boys!'' 
Rang out the voice of the fireman chief; 

'Twas heard 'mid the thundering din and noise — 
"Don't let the structure, boys, come to grief!" 



THE OLD AMERICAN HOUSE. [8 1 

Though hopeless, they fought in the losing game — 
Alerts, Hooks and Durants with furious tramp; 

And hurrying to battle, the Sheridans came 
All the way down from the distant camp. 

Nobly they battled, those fireman brave. 

As the flames glared up toward the midnight 
sky. 

The old time structure to succor and save, 
While anxious thousai^ds had gathered nigh. 

Alas! all in vain! the flames roll on! 

No human power can their progress stay ; 
And the old American House went down 

That had stood the test for many a day. 

Oh that some eloquent pen would write 

An eulogy over the ashes now 
Of the land mark old, which succumbed that 
night. 

Where to-day its ruin is lying low. 

Well worthy was it of a better fate. 

This grim, gray structure of many a year; 

For old recollections cling 'round the spot 
And historic memories cluster here. 



162 MOSS AGATES. 

In days when the Indians used to come 

Clear up to where the old "Round House" 
stands, 

Striking terror to many a Cheyenne home, 

'Twas by brave men reared with daring hands. 



When the Magic City grew out of the plain 
Here 'neath the border land's sunny skies, 

This structure old we shall see ne'er again 
Was numbered among the first to rise. 



And gathering^ here from every clime 

From the inland seas and the ocean's shore 

Men had come out here in that olden time 
To work and traffic and delve for ore. 

There was not in the sweep of the border land. 
Though young and rising almost alone, 

Such an empire — reaching out stately and grand 
To the wonder world of the Yellowstone, 

As was founded here by the daring men 
That came to seek fortune, fame and home 

Where the paleface e'er had seldom been 
And none but the bravest dared to come. 



THE OLD AMERICAN HOUSE. . 183 

In that structure old, now naught but dust, 
The first Legislative Assembly met 

To preform a duty and keep its trust, 

Though adjourned sijie die — lives its spirit yet. 

To Wyoming it gave a first code of laws, 

Not presuming to come as the statesman's gift; 

But sagacious and wise and in the good cause 
Of a new ship of state scarcely set adrift. 

Of the laws that were passed in that building old, 

Some are repealed and others stand 
More precious than gems of purest gold 

And spreading in spirit o'er all the land. 

A century's tide has been rolling by 

Since the march of Liberty first begun — 

When our fathers declared to "do or die," 

And the battle for right was fought and won. 

But in that structure to dust gone down 

Was vouchsafed to the men who gathered there 

To give full Liberty's spotless crown 
To women, as well as men, to wear. 

And the cry that ascended from Boston's plain 
When patriots smote the oppressors' rod. 



184 MOSS AGATES. 

Had its echo out here from the mountain chain 
That was heard clear up to the throne of God. 

When the bill came up many thought and said: 
" Why, this is naught but the merest joke; 

These Solons are probably out of their head ;" 
But they changed their minds when the leader 
spoke. 

There was Bright and Abney and Whitehead too ; 

And with them was brave old " Uncle John;" 
Thev were leaders, then — they were firm and 
true, 

And united they fought till the work was done. 

With others they stood there day and night. 

And fought for the measure, (as some men will )^ 

Till at lengtli in the cause of truth and right 
Thev triumphed at last and carried the bill. 

And like those patriot men of yore. 
Representative's true, of a former age 

Whose labors here long ago were o'er. 

Their names shall appear on history's page. 

May the rights then won ne'er again be lost. 
But endure forever and hapjDiness bring. 



THE OLD AMERICAN HOUSE. 1 85 

May the spirit that lurks in this smoldering dust 
To these foothills aud mountains forever cling. 

Enfranchised daughters, come gather here -- 

Here where the time honored structure stood. 

And shed to its mem'ry a single tear 

While your thanks go up to the living God. 

Though in ruin, it was your Liberty shrine; 

You who had no rights which your Maker gave; 
And a chaplet of beautiful flowers entwine 

To be laid by you in its ashen grave. 

When a grander edifice springs on high, 
Towering up toward the arch of heaven, 

O'er the ruins that now here in ashes lie. 

May " Liberty Block" for its name he given. 



1 86 MOSS AGATES. 



THE RETROSPECT. 



[Read at the celebration of the tenth anniversary of 
Rev. C. M. Saucher's pastorate of the Congregational 
Church, October i8, 1885.] 

THEY had stood by the shrine of the Crucified 
One; 
Their numbers were few — some less than a 
score — 
As the grand, stately march of Empire begun 
To sweep toward the far-away " Golden Gate " 
shore. 
Though peril hung grim on this alkali plain 

And men charged up lives to the profit and loss, 
These few here were gathered, their lives without 
stain ; 
A small, forlorn hope, round the sanctified cross. 

Who will come as their leader — their pastorate 
take? 
For the work will be great and the recompense 
small. 



THE RETROSPECT. 1 87 

Who shall to this people the bread of life break — 
In the name of the Master respond to this call? 
From a thousand miles east the answer quick 
came: 
"I'll go to Cheyenne, if I'm paid not a cent," 
Said Clarendon Sanders. "I'll go in God's name. 
Though I tie on my scalp and sleep out in a 
tent." 

He came to our midst and the bread of life broke 

While the brave little flock put the whole 
armor on. 
And when to the people the new pastor spoke. 

The saint and the cowboy, e'en Chinaman John, 
Gave heed to his words and became better men ; 

While fast round the altar a multitude drew 
Aud hope inspired those who despondent had been 

When the cold, cheerless winds of adversity 
blew. 

Behold! from his works a new edifice springs. 

See its symbol of faith pointing up to the sky ? 
Though joy to the pastor and people it brings. 
Yet they bid to the "old church" a tearful good- 
bye; 
For in days that had passed 'twas their only church 
home 



1 88 MOSS AGATES. 

And sacred experience they ne'er could forget, 
As oft they had worshipped beneath its gray dome. 
It went out on the plains and is standing there 
yet. / 

Ten swift rolling years have gone by since the 
day 
When the new pastar came to this parish for- 
lorn. 
Through this decade of time he has fought all the 
way 
And successtully,'grandly, the banner upborne, 
With Israel's God for his faith and his trust; 

Idolatrous forms in the temple of Bael 
He has helped to cast down, to commune with 
the dust 
That righteousness might in their places prevail. 

In this church what a work have the faithful not 
done ? 
For the fires sacredotal burn brighter each year. 
They, by faith, have the race of the true Christian 
run, 
And weary hearts oft have been given good 
cheer. 



THE RETROSPECT. 189 

" For the good of the church " many young Chris- 
tians stand 
'Round the foot of the cross and ne'er falter nor 
tire; 
And heard here is music in symphonies grand 
From voices that vie with an angehc choir. 

Around us are those who have wandered afar 

From the homesteads old with their memories 
sweet — 
No fond mother's love for a guiding star 

To point out the path for their wayward feet. 
But one by one, as they venture this way 

Where a beacon light shines — may it shine ever- 
more — 
Where God's children meet to worship and pray— 

They are welcomed all at this wide church door. 

But, as you have gathered this autumn night — 

Anniversary time of an era new — 
Some are not here 'neath this festal light. 

Companions and friends who were pure and 
true, 
For the new-made bride, m her bridal dress. 

Lies calmly asleep up there on the hill; 
And the noble Johnson, whose name you bless. 

In that voiceless citv lies cold and still. 



90 



MOSS AGATES. 



As we look to-night some faces are gone, 

For a bo<;t came across with a boatman grim; 
They embarked from the shore with the pilot wan 
And have sailed o'er the surf of the river with 
him. 
They've passed through the gates of the " City of 
Gold," 
Where its amber-hud domes and its minarets 
rise. 
And peace have they found amid pleasures untold 
In that summer land region beyond the skies. 

Ves, ten swift-rolling years have gone by since 
that day 
When the new pastor came to this parish for- 
lorn; 
Through this decade of time he has fought all the 
way 
And successfully, grandly, the banner upborne; 
Proving faithful and true in the years that are past. 

Ever pointing the way to the golden shore. 
May he still be with you ; his pastorate last. 
And as leader continue thrice ten years more. 



COMING HOME FROM SCHOOL. 



TIP the old sunken road, where the red blossom 

U alders 

And raspberry bushes grew thick by the way; 

Long ago, in the years that have come and de- 
parted. 

When the sunlight grew dim at the close of each 
day- 

Tired children trudged home from the shingle- 
jDatched school house 

Now gone to decay, but for fifty odd years 

That stood where the wind through the bows of 
the hemlock 

Seemed whisvp'ring of life, with its smiling and 
tears. 

And there, nestled up under the gray, barren hill- 
side, 

A cottage — 'twas small, un^^retentious and old ; 

And close by its door grew the snow bells and 
clover, 



192 MOSS AGATES. 

Their bloom blending soft with buttercups' gold. 
From the sill down the slope ran a trail through 

the " dooryard," 
A pathway, though narrow, well-trodden and 

straight. 
That stopped at the point where the farm-road ran 

past it, 
At the post where once swung the old, rickety gate. 

And as oft the beams of the radient sunshine 
O'er the hills to the west were beginning to fade, 
Down that path, to the roadway, walked slowly a 

mother- 
In her face just the tinge of a life-weary shade — 
And there, where the path became merged in the 

highway, 
(.)ft anxiously watching, the fond mother stood. 
To give to her children a dear, kindly greeting 
As they trudged home from school, up the olden 

farm road. 

All their school entailed sorrows were healecl and 

forgotten 
By her kisses, imprinted on each little face 
When they came, and she told how the Infinite 

Father 



COMING HOME FROM SCHOOL. 1 93 

Would guide them through h'fc, and impart to 
them grace 

To overcome and withstaiul every sinful tempta- 
tion — 

Temptations to violate God's golden rule; 

And the love-light beamed soft in the face of that 
mother 

\\Mien her children came up the old farm road 
from school. 

But there came a sad time when the true, faithful 

mother 
vStood not where the path and the old roadway met, 
For angels of peace, robed in beauty resplendent, 
Came over one day ere the summer sun set, 
From a land by the shore of the sea that is surfless, 
^^'here the p'lre and true shall forever be blest — 
And the lo\ed one went home borne by white- 
pinion angels. 

To her whispering softly, "Come, weary one, rest." 

]5y that old farm road yet grow the bushes and 

alders ; 
]5ut left in neglect for these many long years- 
Where once stood the cottage up imder the hillside 
I'o-day not a trace of its ruin appears; 
And scattered abroad from their childhoocrs old 

homestead 



194 



MOSS AGATES. 



Roam the children, far out on the journey of life — 
On time's tide of years with its mystery driftin<j^; 
Despondent sometimes in this earth-wear}- strife. 

Oft comes to them now in their \isions and dream- 

A picture of old with its joy and its pain; 

And back from that little gray, storm-beaten school 

house. 
Up the old farm road home they are trudging 

again 
And the snow bells that grew 'mid the blue and 

white clover, 
15y that path through the dooryard are blooming 

there still; 
And in fan.cy they see her - the kind, faithful 

mother - 
By the gate near that cottage up under the hill. 

Vet vain are these visions— illusive this dreaming— 
For that mother today by the City of Light 
vSits peacefully there in a pearl-corniced cottage, 
And waits for her children'? glad coming in sight; 
And e\ery eve, by a gate made of jasper, 
vShe is standing and watching, as %\hen she once 

stood 
In the years long ago, to extend them her greeting 
When they came home from school up the olden 

farm road. 



THE CHEYENNE & NORTHERN R. R. 



[Ti XE — "Marching Through Georgia."] 

LET'S give three cheers, and loud, my bo\- 
We'll give them good and strong! 
The Cheyenne Northern Railroad 

Is now pushing right along; 
And this shall be the tenor and the 

Chorus of our song 
While we arc marching together: 
Hurrah ! hurrah I then for the Northern Road ! 
Hurrah I hurrah I they're turning up the sod I 
Whereon the vSioux and Jay hawkers for years 
The war path trod 
While we were marching together. 

They will l)uild a spur to Hartville where 

The finest ores are found. 
The engineers and contractors are 

vStakino^ out the irround. 



196 



Moss AGATES. 



Of blasting- shocks and picks and plows 
We soon will hear the sound 

While we are marching together. 
Hurrah! hurrah! then for the Xorthen Road! 
Hurrah! hurrah! they're turning up the sod! 
Whereon the Sioux and Jayhaw kcrs for 
Years the war path trod 
While we were marchinsf tofjether. 






BETHLEHEM'S MARTYR. 



[Composed expressly for, dedicated to and recited bv 
Miss Leontine Abney, (then a little girl), at Christmas 
exercise held in the First Presbyterian Church in 1883. J 

THE world was lost; sins blighting curse 
vStalked through Judea's wilderness; 
Death sat on the shores of the eastern sea 
And sang in the surf of Galilee; 
Dark superstition held dreadful sway, 
Marring and hiding the light of day — 
Such a gloomy night had ne'er been seen 
As encompassed the plains of Palestine. 

But behold I the Magi sages saw 

A '^Star in the East"- -they were filled with awe; 

They were wise men all, but it guided them 

To the beautiful groves of Bethlehem, 

For there near the grave where Rachael slept 

Bv the vale where the sluggish Kedron crept, 



igS MOSS AGATES. 

Where the Dead sea's waves were full in sight, 
Our infant vSaviour was born that nigfht. 



\'es, Jesus who came from the *•' House of Ijread 

Thous^h he had not a place to lay his head 

Went forth, a benighted world to save; 

His life and blood to freely give — 

He healed the sick and fed the poor. 

As from place to place and door to door 

He went on his pilgrimage alone 

'Till the seed of redemption was fulh' sown. 

He saved the world; yet was crucified; 
On the cross of Calvary Jesus died- 
He died for me and he died for you. 
Alas, that we should prove untrue 
To one whose precious blood was shed 
With a crown of thorns upon His head. 
To wash from our hearts each sinful stain 
That you and that I might lixe again. 

Like Marv, who wept while standing there 
And was first to come to the sepulchre. 
Though a little girl, may I not forget 
That Jesus is mine and is pleading yet — 



liETHLEIIEM S MARTYR. 

Pleading that sinners may come on high, 
Way up to his home in the starry sky 
Where a home we'll find, all sin forgiven, 
Inside of the pearly gate of Heaven. 

"Tarry ve here and watch with me," 

Said Jesus in dark Gethsemane. 

To us doth he now these w'ords repeat: 

"Come children all to the Saviour's feet;" 

And when .at last we shall all go home 

And into our Master's presence come, 

Jesus will clasp each little hand ; 

And Oh, mav we he an unbroken l)and. 



99 




200 MOSS AGATES. 



MAMMA WAS TIRED AND WENT 
TO SLEEP. 



[Years ay,o, the old Grout house, still standing on the 
shores of Lake Minnehaha, was struck hy liijhtning dur- 
ing the prevalence of a se\ere thunder storm and the 
mother of two little children, who were asleep at the time, 
was instantly killed. She was not disfigured, and the little 
ones thought she had fallen asleep while sitting in her 
chair. They tried to wake her, and when assistance came 
the eldest exclaimed, with tears in her eyes: "Mamma 
Mas tired and went to sleep." They, even at the fu- 
neral, tried to awake her, not understanding what death 
meant.] 

MAMM.V was tired and went to sleep; 
Oh, we've tried so hard to wake her up I'"' 
Said a Httle ehild as she tried to keep 

The tears from faUing- that woukl not stop. 
vShe did not know that the tired one 

liatl bowed forever her weary head, 
That her first and truest friend was gone, 
And lier spirit away from Its ela\- had lied. 



MAMMA WENT TO SLEEP. 20I 

For a holt came down as the chilch'en slept 

Cosy and warm in their httle cot, 
While mamma a watchful vigil kept 

There hv this loved and sacred spot. 
The summons to go from hence away 

Came with that Hash from the overcast sky ; 
'Twiis read to the mother at close of day 

When the storm kino- swept witli the message hy. 

No, little one; no, vou cannot wake 

Mamma again, "'tis her last repose; 
No more will the storms around her break, 

Over her life no bleak wind blows 
As sinks the sun in the golden west, 

^^'hen the shades of night begin to creep. 
The angels took her away to rest; 

Mamma was tired and went to sleep. 

How many mothers are tired to-night, 

Wearilv, wearily toiling on 
In the dusk of the evening's fading light — 

I^v the dim gray mist of the morning dawn, 
Of whom perchance it may soon be true. 

While they sow the seed where loved ones reap 
When memory makes its last review: 

Manima was tn*ed and went to sleep. 



20 2 MOSS AGATES. 

I have seen the mother, whose silvered hair 

vShaded a furrowed and careworn brow, 
Working- and toihng year by year 

Alone, for her hungry flock; and now 
By the open grave of this one I stand 

While the little ones turn aside to weep, 
.Vnd think as they reach for her vanished hand: 

''Mamma was tired and went to sleep." 

1 have seen the wreck of a wasted life. 

Gray haired, weary, deserted and old, 
Who fell in the worlds unceasing strife. 

Borne to the earth by remorse untold. 
For him no "-light in the window" gleams 

From a mother's hand for her long lost sheep, 
And sometimes at night the old man dreams: 

'■'■ Mother was tired and went to sleep." 

Wayward wanderers, to and fro 

P\ar from the dear old homestead hearth, 
Totterinsf ever as on you o^o 

Down to the cesspool walks of earth 
Think ere you } ield to the tempters sway 

Think ere you take the fatal leap 
Of the mother now gone for manv adav — 

The tired mother who went to sleep. 



MAMMA WENT TO SLEEP. 203 

We totter away from the cradle's side 

When the journey of life has just begun. 
And drift with the stream of human tide 

Which down to the tomb keeps rolling on. 
But when the portals of death are past 

With its gloomy shadows so dark and deep, 
We shall live again and wake at last, 

Like the tired mother who went to sleep. 

In a land far off l)v the tideless sea 

Where the purple hills are ever in bloom 
wStands a city that's built for you and me, 

Where the weary ones are gathering home. 
And the Master, true to his changeless w ord. 

His ransomed children will safely keep 
Where those mournful words are never heard: 

^' Mamma was tired and went to sleep.'"' 



204 MOSS AGATES, 



THE ROUND-UP FOREMAN 



THE ride on the range is over, 
Corraled is the round-up train; 
And one there is of our number 
Who will ride with us ne'er again. 

Called hcnee by the round-up foreman 
To ride on the range with him 

In the sweep of that summer region 
That lies in the distance dim. 

There's a riderless horse still standing 
By the gate of the old corral, 

And impatiently looks for the coming 
Of the rider he loved so well. 

All tenantless now is the "dobie,'' 
With weeds grown up by the way; 

And the coyotes around in the debris 
Have rustled for man\ a dav. 



THE ROUXD-UP FOREMAN. 20- 

And a story they tell in secret^ — 

Of course it is all untrue— 
But as I have heard them tell it 

I repeat it again to you. 

^^'ay up in the canyon gorges, 

^\'hen the zepliyrs and night winds blow, 
Are heard mysterious voices, 

Their murmurs but soft and low. 

And they seem to say as they whisper: 
"The foreman will still ride on, 

For his round-up over the river 
Has scarce!}- as yet begun." 

And at night, as no man has ridden, 

There is oftimes seen to ride 
The pale, grim round-up foreman 

Adown from the Great Divide. 

And heard the din of his midnight tramp 

Rounding along the sweep, 
Out on the verge of the round-up camp. 

Where the coyotes their vigils keep. 

We'll all go o'er to the great round-up 
And ride on the distant ransre 



2o6 



MOSS AGATES. 



vSome dav be called to make the trip 
When conieth the last <rrcat chaiifre. 

This comrade gone we will meet ap^ain 
Whom we miss in our camp to-day — 

A\'ho traveled afar from the cactus plain 
To the range lying far awav. 

Then corraled be the train by the river 
Where eternity's roses bloom, 

And never again— no, never, 

W^ill the round-up foreman come. 




HELEN C. KNIGHT. 



[Miss Knight, well known to many here, was the beau- 
tiful and accomplished daughter of Joseph Knight, Esq. 
8he died at the St. Joseph, Missouri, May 30, 1S89, but her- 
remains were brought to Cheyenne for interment.] 

'^ONE from this earth g-oiie far away, 
J Thy sweet young face no more we sec; 
As blushing morn is merged in day, 
vSo passed the brightness born of thee. 

A lovely flower thou came'st to bloom 

Awhile in efflorescence here, 
Though know we thou hast but gone honiC, 

We cannot check the falling tear. 

The halo of thy jeweled mind, 

Rich stored with gems of purest thought 

O where again shall we e'er find 

The gracefulness thy presence brought.? 



208 



MOSS AGATES. 



We pause beside thy new made gra\ e. 
In reverence avc bow the head 

We bless thee for that hfe which ^avc 
A peace that lives thoiig-h thou art dead. 

Art dead? no, no! thou 11 vest on, 

vSwcetly within the memory, 
Though thou, to dwell, from us hast gone 

To realms of immortality. 



Yes, beautious one, thy mem'ry sweet 
A peaceful, holy calmness gives 

Thy life — though long before we meet 
Within the heart forever lives. 



MOSHIER'S LAMENT. 



[For the brutal i^iurder of John II. Wenscl and the at 
tempted murder of James Knight, which occurred on the 
morninw of .September 12, 1SS3, near Fort Russell, Henry 
iSIoshier was lynched on the night of September 17, a 
large body of masked men breaking into the jail and tak- 
ing him thence to a telegraph pole at the corner of Nine- 
teenth and Eddy Streets, where he was hung. The affair 
created much excitement in Cheyenne at the time — there 
being no doubt, however, of Moshier's guilt. By mis- 
take when Wensel was buried the headboard put up at 
his grave was labelled "James Knight." Some years la- 
ter Knight also died in Colorado, probably from the ef- 
fects of the terrible blow received on the head nt the time 
of the tragedy.] 

MY God, I can hear them! They come; yes, they 
cornel 
And, oh! I must meet my rich merited doom. 
The judgment is rendered, the death warrant 

signed, 
For the l3lood of poor Wcnsel cries up from the 
ground. 



2IO MOSS AGATES. 

The avenger's tribunal has adjourned sine die 
That assembled cri masse wretehed Moshier to 
try. 

(jreat God I hear those blows and the stamping of 

feet! 
And I unprepared tliis stern fiat to meet. 
Are there none to rescue from this awful fate? 
But the echoed response came, ^' Too late! ves, too 

late!" 
There's ai^xed to their warrant the \ ig'lantc seal 
And from this decree there can be no appeal. 

Oh, Wensel ! poor Wensel ! your blood's on my 

head ! 
Like you, in the gra\e I'll soon make my last bed. 
Why did I redden my hands in 3'our blood 
And cite you before the tribunal of God? 
Oh, mv brain reals with frenzy - yes, break down 

the door! 
When death comes to rescue my troubles are o'er. 

From the infernal regions yc demons come u]) 
And snatch from my lips this one last bitter cup; 
lla! you laugh at my raving with mimicking 

scorn ! 
The anguish with which this ])oor bosom is torn 



MOSHIER S LAMENT. 211 

v'^tavl with calmness niv fate I will meet if I can, 
Ancl--perhaps after all I may die like a man. 

VesI yes, I can hear vou -work on I strike away I 
Yoiril an entrance effect ere the dawninj^ of day I 
But a few moments longer of life yet remains, 
Then hushed be forever the clank of my chains 
And my lost, condemned spirit polluted will 2^0 
To its doom in the ^'olcanic regions of woe. 

Oh, the years of mv childhood — how happy thev 

^vere ; 
The rememberance of them doth m\' memory 

stir — 
As the birds of the morninsr are vocal with sc>n2" 
I winged my glad pilgrimage all the day long. 
But those days are long past and can never return, 
Yet the thoughts of those vears in m^- memory 

burn. 

Had I heeded the counsel a loved mother ga\ c 
When I clasped her thin hand on the verge of the 

grave, 
Or a father's advice often given to me 
Ere he entered the shadows of death's mystery, 
This stern retribution would not ha\e been mine. 
Here waiting the vig'lante hangman's grim sign. 



212 MOSS AGATES. 

Bv the devious path I have made in this hfe 
Tve faUered too oft in the uncertain strife — 
Admonitions unheeded with scorn I haAC spurned, 
And the dictates of conscience I never have learned. 
Poison ivy and thorns have grown up on the way — 
I've been held in their meshes for many a day. 

jNIy moments are few — Fm approaching the last 

When my sorrow'll be over, my agony past 

jMy clay will soon lie 'neath the cactus crowned 

turf 
And my soul speed -dwny o'er the fathomless surf. 
I expect'not an angel as guide to be given. 
And in vain I shall look for an entrance to Heaven. 

No funeral cortage — no tolling of bells — 

Xo chaplet of roses or white immortelles 

Will be laid by kind hands npon my lifeless breast 

When thev carry me hence to oblivious rest. 

Tlicre'U be none to follow, no friends will be 

near, 
And the sod o'er my head moistened not \\ ith a 

tear. 

Hear that crash, and those shots! oh, my God, here 

the}' are I 
And r curse them because they have not come 

before— 



MOSHIER S LAMENT. 213 

Yes, Vm ready to go; but stay until dawn. 
In regard to poor Wcnsel, I'll write it all down; 
Grant more time, I praj-, for this last fatal step 
That mv fate I may meet with unquivering li]). 

You refuse me — yet fain would I trv to atone 
For all the dark deeds which in life I have done. 
Xo respite is granted; 'tis well; yes, 'tis well — 
Launch me into the red seething cauldron of hell. 
Your threats, ye avengers, I hear all in vain, 
For Mosbrier no more will be heard to complain. 

I will go, yes; I'll go to the dread, fatal spot. 
Don't handle me roughly; oh! boys, drag me not. 
Here at last, to the place of my death I have 

come. 
Oh I do not delay; send me swift to m}- doom. 
Grim angel of death, dismal, ghastly and pale, 
Draw 'round my dim vision, the sepulchre's veil. 

Good bve, all the friends of this life that I've met; 

And my crimes, if you can, please forgive and for- 
get. 

My wife! oh! my wife! you have ever been true; 

A farewell eternal I breathe unto you. 

I remember you still, to my last dying breath — 

Ilave mercy! my God! this is death! oh! 'tis 
death ! 



2 14 MOSS AGATES. 



TO A YOUNG LADY. 



TIIK purest gifts that e'er came from tlie hand 
Devine 
Have been vouchsafed to thee and they are thine, 
In form and feature enchanting as an Houri fair. 
And eyes that scintillate with beauty rare. 

^'ct all the girlhood charms that nature did im- 
part. 
Rival not the worth and graces of the heart 
And mind, that halo-like seem to encompass thee 
An(] crown thee with a maiden's truest dignity. 
vSince thou art here 
Can nature e'er again bestow 
Gifts like thine to any here below ? 

lUit why should I these simple lines to thee in- 
dict ? 
Yet stay, there's naught in any line or word I write 



To A YOUNG LADY. 



21 



To indicate the l^eautious gem I mean 
Than whom no nobler one will e'er be seen. 
Thy voice oft have I heard sweet as the Night 

nigaie; 
But for such as me, 'twould be of no avail 
To even thnik — a crime thy name to give — 
Higher thy sphere than that in which I live. 




2l6 MOSS AGATES. 



BUNNY. 



[Little Irene Cald.vei'.] 

BLACK-EYED, roguish little "Ihinny; 
None e'er yet so cute and funny; 
Happy, happy all the clay, 
With her studies or at play — 
I can only, only say: 
Black cved, roeuish little Bunnv. 



vSvveetest little face has Ijunny, 
Always smiling-, always sunny. 
When we meet, without demand 
(yives me e'er her little hand; 
"Tis not hard to understand 
Black-eyed, roguish little Bunnv. 

Oft disputes I have with liunny. 
Just pretended - 'tis so funny; 



BUXNY 



217 



I say: '•'•"'tis, sirl"' '•'•Ikiu"' says: "no!' 
I'hcn she tells me: "that don't go,'' 
And her little puns l)esto\v- 
Black-eycd, roguish little Bunny. 

vSweet to me is little Bunny. 

Lose her friendship.^ not for money; 
Happy, happy all the day 
With her studies or at play-^ 
I can only, onl}- say : 

Blnck-eved, roguish little Bunn\ . 




1 8 MOSS AGATES, 



CHEROKEE BOB S BATTLE. 



HE fought the Iiulians long and well. 
He conquered, but Dem-i-jon fell 
From gallons three to less than one, 
And then around that Dem-i-jon 
A war of words both hot and strong 
Ensued; 'twas said "this is all wrong; 
Why are we in this way bereft? 
There should have been more- -water left 
To slake our thirst — the fight is o'er 
And we of Indians killed a score." 

Said Bobbie: '"'tis a shame, 1 know; 

1 don't see h.ou it could be so. 

fust as the fight was comming on 

I took and hid that Dem-i-jon 

And watched it closelv through the fight. 

1 wanted it preserved all right; 

And boys, I'll tell you on the square, 

1 dicT sonie awful fij:cbting there. 



CHEROKEE ROB S I5ATTLE 



219 



"•To keep these Injins back, I tit - 
That Dem-I-jon they tried to git; 
But I staid with it all the while 
And I tell you I killed a pile 
Of Injins — I should say about 
A hundred, without any doubt. 
I didn't stop to take their bar; 
Why, boys, just see them la}'in' thar."* 



But no dead Indians there were seen 

Where Bol)''s great fight had hardest been. 

They searched the place some distance round. 

But not a redskin dead was found. 

Alas, alas, it was too true, 

x\s all instinctively well kne\\' ; 

Indians with whom Bob fought and won 

All came from that old Dem-i-jon. 



2 20 MOSS AGATES, 



LITTLE RAY 



[Dedicated to Thomas F. and llattie A. Durbin, on the 
death of their son, Raymond E. Durbin, aged six years 
and twenty days, \yliose death occurred October 9, 188S.] 

WHERE the winds blow soft on the distant slope 
And whisper of time and the fleeting years, 
\W^ laid him at rest as a faded hope 

And jeweled his grave with out falling tears. 

Our bright eyed darling— our little Ray; 

Oh, why was he called from our^arms so soon? 
We asked when the sim went down that day 

And the twilight shadows were coming on. 

But in dreams that night, lo! an angel came, 
And pausing he stood on the door-way sill; 

With a gesture he spoke our loved one's name, 
And said, as he glanced toward the distant hill: 



LITTLE RAY. 



121 



'^ Weep not I weep not I for I took him home 
As the Master wanted him by His side, 

And he's waiting up there until you shall come; 
Your own little Ray that you thought had died." 

And we thmk now we see him — our little Rav, 
And oft — so oft, while our darling waits, 

He comes to the entrance each night and dav 
^Vnd beckons to us through the jasper gates. 




2 22 Moss AGATES. 



MISS WYOMING TO UNCLE SAM. 



Tune — Wc arc Coming Father Abraham, etc. 

[Written by request, in anticipation of immediate state- 
hood. 

TTNCLE SAMUEL, Fm coming- Miss Wyom- 

U is my name; 

Though the youngest in your household, I am not 

unknown to fame. 
By the mountains and the foothills out in the bor- 
der land, 
Some twenty )ears ago, or more, you bade vim 
take my stand. 
Yet faithful child and dutiful Fve been- -this is 

my claim ; 
Uncle Samuel, Fm coming -Miss W^voming is 

my name. 
Yet faithful child and dutiful Fve been - this is 

my claim; 
Uncle Samuel, Fm coming — ^Sliss AV^voming is 
mv name. 



MISS WYOMIX(; TO INCLE SAM. 223 

I come not empty handed, for my wealth can 

ne'er be told 
Of flocks and herds and products, wealth of siher 

and of gold. 
r\e the grandest constitution — woman's right to 

vote is mine- 
All these I brin.g and offer at the Union's cherished 
shrine. 
Vet the chapletof ni}' statehood I havesought- 

wiio shall me blame r 
Uncle Samuel, I'm coming — Miss Wyoming is 

my name. 
Yet the chaplet of my statehood 1 have sought — 

who shall me blame? 
Uncle Samuel, I'm coming--OvIiss Wyoming is 
m\' name. 



Should my older sisters peevish get and some- 
times seem untrue. 

To me 'twould make no difference. Uncle Sam — - 
I'll stick by 3-ou. 

If faint and sick and weary when the cares of state 
betide, 

A vigil through the gloomy night I'll e'er keep b\- 
your side. 



24 MOSS AGATES. 

Through sunshine and through sorrow I \vill 

ever he the saine; 
I'nclc Samuel, I'm coming ?^Iiss Wyoming is 

my namiC 
Through sunshine and through sorrow I wiU 

ever be the same; 
Uncle vSamuel, I'm coming — Miss Wyoming is 

mv name. 



I forget — 'tis consummated; in the Union's sistei - 

hood 
I'm standing and have passed the gates where 

once outside I stood. 
Carey, Baker, Struble led the way -revered their 

names shall be. 
() christen me "The Vidette State," star number 
forty-three, 
And ne'er shall you have cause to rue the dav 

when first I came; 
Sisters all extend a greeting — ]Miss Wyoming 

is my name. 
And ne'er shall }Ou have cause to rue the dav 

when ihst I came - 
Uncle Sam, give me your welcome — Miss ^V'\•- 
oming is mv name. 



MISS WYOMING TO UNCLE SAM. 



225 



To noble senators who fought and voted for my 

bill 
I wish to say to one and all, I thank you with a 

will; 
And to President Harrison: I truly say to you, 
You are a worthy grandson of old-time Tippe- 
canoe. 
To flag nor to our country will I ever bring a 

shame — 
Sisters all, I come to greet you — Miss Wyoming 

is my name. 
To flag nor to our country will 1 ever bring a 

shame ; 
Uncle Sam, with you forever — Miss Wyoming 
is my name. 



226 MOSS AGATES. 



UNCLE JOHNNIE. 

(John Eaines.) 



[Inscribed to the Pioneers of Wyoming.] 

MARCH slowly to-day, each old pioneer, 
As we follow the hearse to the hill; 
The pale round-up foreman again was here, 

For he's riding the ranges still ; 
And called away by the foreman grim, 

A pioneer true and tried; 
And one of our number has gone with him — 
"Uncle Johnnie" has crossed the divide. 

And a "dobie" that's fashioned by angel hands. 

With a cottage and mansion too. 
Where the palm trees wave and the Master 
stands 

To welcome the good and true, 
They gave Uncle Johnnie when he came home 

Down the slopes of the further side; 
And they opened the gates when they saw him 
come 

To that city just o'er the divide. 



ISLE SEVENTEEN. 



[Read at a party given in honor of Miss Helen Furness 
on her seventeenth birthday :] 

SLOWLY on Time's river breast are they borne, 
The halcyon years of this life's early morn, 
'Mid bloom efflorescent, enchanting and sweet, 
Where beauty and youth in their gracefulness 
meet. 

There's an isle in the midst of the river's blue tide 
Where maidens entranced half reluctant abide— 

For a season to bask in Elysian bowers 

To rival in beauty its radient flowers. 

And there is a name that is known to the years. 
Ere the maidens shall meet with life's smiling- and 

tears. 
Which I'll give to this isle with its foliage green: 
And the name I'll give it is "Sweet Seventeen." 



228 MOSS AGATES. 

On this isle of the years, with its halo of light, 
Our young friend is listlessly standing to-night; 
And the charm and the grace of her presence and 

smile 
A new glorv gives to this beautiful isle. 

Unceasingly onward shall Time's river glide, 
iVnd its waters at last shall be merged with the 

tide 
Of the ocean that reaches the arbutus strand 
And kisses the shore of the shadowless land. 
May to her, as the tide of this river sweeps on. 
Each isle be as beautious and fair as this one — 
As radient with flowers and foliage green 
As the isle reached to-day, christened "Sweet Sev- 
enteen." 



, ^ /IV 



MEMORIES OF THE PAST. 



AS I wander to-night in the moonlight pale 
No rock in the desert I seem to see, 
Yet I cannot lift up futurity's veil 
And I cannot tell what is yet to be. 

But visions and dreams of the trodden past 
Unbidden are rising upon my sight, 

And forms that have vanished are crowding fast 
From the tomb of the buried years to- 
night. 

I can see a cottage with open door 

As it stood by the hillside long ago, 
And around it still as in days of yore 
The snow bells bloom and the sumachs grow. 

I can hear the tones of a voice that's still, 
And a mothers hand in mv own I hold 



230 MOSS AGATES. 

i\s I cross in spirit the olden sill 

At the open door as in davs of old. 

Ah, yes; and a brother — I meet him too — - 
In that quaint old cottage I see him there 

With his sunny smile and his eyes of blue, 
His rosy cheeks and his golden hair. 

And out again through the woodland's maze, 
'Neath the droopmg cedars and spruce trees tall 

We wander and list as in boyhood days 
To the cuckoo's song and the robins call. 

But those olden days full of peace and joy 
With these two faces will come no more. 

As when in the past I was yet a boy. 
And saw them both at that open door. 

For a boat came o'er with a boatman grim, 
By the shore of the river he waved his hand. 

And they both sailed over the surf with him 
To the fadeless bloom of the summer land. 

And a father too — I can see him now 
Lingering there on the homestead old - 

His step is feeble and on his brow 

Are furrows that come from cares untold. 



MEMORIES OF THE PAST. 23 I 

And the mem'ry still of a sweet child form 
I saw in the years that have long since fled, 

Is haunting me yet, while my heart grows warm, 
And fain from the grave w^ould I call the dead. 

Yes, I wander to-night with abstracted glance 
While the moonlight falls in a lambent ray, 

And I hear the sounds of the brilliant dance 
And roll of the music just o'er the way. 

But I heed them not while wandering ori 
For I roam to-night on memory's lea. 

And out of the 3'ears that are* past and gone 
These forms 'and faces come back to me. 

I shall journey still where the bleak winds rave 

Over the sands of a desert drear. 
Till I see at last when I reach the wave 

The boatman grim with his boat draw near. 

And the winds that whisper a mournful dirge 
For the vanished faces which come no more, 

Shall waft me then o'er the foaming surge 
To meet them again on the mystic shore. 



232 MOSS AGATES. 



NELLIE AT THE GATE. 



THE day was cold — the wind was high, 
O'ercast with clouds the autumn sky— 
As slowly I, with spirits gay, 
Rode o'er the rough uneven way 
Which led me to that old estate 
Where Nellie met me at the gate. 

No nymph or houri e'er so fair — 
With soul lit eyes and auburn hair. 
As Nellie who with footsteps light 
Came with a smile than morn more bright 
It warms my heart e'en to relate 
How Nellie met me at the gate. 

Ne'er had I seen or met e'er this 
That fair enchanting lovely miss — 
Though stranger in a distant land 
She reached to me her little hand — 



NELLIE AT THE GATE. 233 

111 mem'ry ever fixed the date 
When NelHe met me at the gate. 

Why say this world is dark and cold 
Where beauty grace and worth untold 
Are found; there's many a precious gem 
We see if we but look for them, 
And such I saw in regal state 
When Nellie met me at the gate. 

O, let the breath of winters sigh, 
The winds blow cold as they go by; 
Let wild blasts o'er the pra'rie sweep. 
Yet fain would I a vigil keep; 
Storms all unheeded I would wait 
Till Xellie meets me at the gate. 



234 MOSS AGATES. 



GROVER AND FRANCES. 



ONCE, ill far-famed old Buffalo, 
('Twas only a few years ago), 
Dwelt Grover there, a lawyer staid. 
Who had no reputation made 
Beyond his own not o'er large place- 
Which with the w^orld keeps even pace- 
Grover himself was slow to own 
That he was equal to Blackstone. 

Yet, in a quiet, plodding way 
Grover worked on day after day ; 
Not num'rous were his clients then, 
But they were all good paying men ; 
And Grover did what's fair to all 
Who in those days gave him a call — 
Were claims collected large or spare 
His clients got — the biggest share. 



GROVER AND FRANCES. 235 

In those calm days of which I write 
Dwelt there a maiden sweet and bright; 
Frances, or "Frankie " was her name — 
The fairest girl, as all will claim, 
That ever lived in Buffalo. 

She then was but a school-girl there, 
With beautious eyes and auburn hair; 
And with her school mates by her side 
Her books with ribbons deftlv tied 
Up in a package cute and small. 
She day by day attended school, 
This fairest girl in Buffalo. 

Day after day, along the street 
Where Grover had his law retreat. 
Passed Frances by the open door 
Of that law shop, where on the floor 
Oft could be seen tobacco quids. 
Law papers scattered with old duds. 
And sometimes 'mid the general gloom 
Lay Grover's shoes — if there was room. 

Soon 'twas, as Frances oft passed bv. 
Her beauty rare caught Grover's eye; 
And in some way that's unexplained 
He of her name a knowledge gained. 



236 MOSS AGATES. 

And often at their school-time walk 
The girls with fair Frances would talk, 
And ask: "Who's that old fellow there 
Who sits and smokes with quizzing stare; 
He's impudent- — the mean old thing; 
Can't we him to his senses bring?" 

Of this Frances expressed some doubt, 
But saw no way to find it out. 
Oft times they said, the girl to tease: 
"He's smitten sure with you, Frances; 
Just think of it, Frankie, will you? 
We've heard that he is forty-two! 
And you fourteen ! " Replied no word 
'Cept " Shut up, girls; why, how absurd!" 

Time sped— with Grover plodding on 
The same as he had always done — 
Still past his door at morn of day 
The fair Frances walked on her way. 
In time a slight acquaintance sprung 
From force of circumstances wrung; 
And if Grover " good morning " said, 
She slightly bowed her pretty head. 

But I must haste — it will not do 
To tell of all that passed to you. 



GROVER AND FRANCES. 237 

Suffice to say, as now appears, 
Grover became ere many years, 
(In the correct sense of the word), 
A friend; and e'en his heart was moved, 
For from the first had Grover loved 
The queenly girl ; to him I'm sure 
She partial felt, if nothing more — 
Though now eighteen, he forty-six — 
For age with love don't always mix. 

Van Winkle like I take a sleep, 
Not twenty years — yet still I keep 
In mind what happened in the past. 
Though time is flying here o'er fast 
I close my eyes and shut the book. 
And in the meantime take no look 
Abroad to see the world move on. 
And pay no heed to what is done. 

I wake from out this semi-dream 

And minofle with the rollinor stream 

Of life ; and on its wave I speed 

From West to East — though odd, indeed— 

My travels bring me, ere they're done, 

To our capital, Washington. 



238 MOSS AGATES. 

'Tis gay and gorgeous everywhere, 
And with the throng that swaying there 
Toward the White House I took my way- 
For this was on re'ception day. 
Senators, gov'nors in the throng 
With office-seekers pushed along 
Anxious to meet the President, 
As some on schemes for place were bent. 

I passed within the open door 

And walked along the White House floor; 

Within the " Blue Room " soon I stand 

Close to the ruler of our land. 

But see! behold! what meant all this? 

For there stood Grover and Frances; 

He president and she his bride, 

There in the White House, side by side. 

Transfixed there to the spot I stood — 
A nation passed and bowed its head. 
Grover now foremost in the land; 
Frances, than w^hom the Divine hand 
Ne'er fashioned one of truer worth 
*And sent that one to dwell on earth, 
Were there, amid the loud acclaim 
Which from this whole great nation came. 



GROVER AND FRANCES. 230 

O ! tell me not that love of power 
Supremely rules and sways the hour. 
What men may think or men have said 
Cannot displace the mystic thread ; 
Grover and Frances side by side 
In the White House as husband, bride, 
First met in spirit years ago, 
When on that street in Buffalo 
Past Grover's oft wide open door. 
At his law place with unswept floor 
Frances passed by, and constant there 
Saw Grover in his big arm chair, 
Until a strong attachment grew 
And ripened there between the two — 
They loved at last — 'tw^as only this 
That wedded Grover and Frances. 




240 



MOSS AGATES. 



MARION GRAY. 



[The original production bearing the above title was 
composed for, inscribed to, and recited bj Miss Bessie 
McMahon, (now Mrs. E. A. Carter, of Fort Washakie, 
Wyo.,) one of Cheyenne's brightest and fairest daughters, 
and used by her at the opera house on the occasion of 
the competitive recitations in the winter of 1886-87; but 
having been mislaid the author was compelled to impro- 
vise something to take its place. Marion Gray (as her 
name was understood to be) was a Confederate girl who 
prior to and during the war resided in the vicinity of the 
Bull Run battle ground, and the author feels that he 
ought to make some mention of her in this little volume, 
for the incident here alluded to is a true one, and had it 
not been for her the productions herein contained would 
probably never have been written:] 

pAN yon ride to the slopes beyond the stream? 

\j 'Tis the enemy or I am in a dream," 
The captain said; "and tell me sure 
Whether Moseby's men are over there." 



MARION GRAY. 24I 

He addressed his words to a soldier lad 
In the uniform of the Northmen clad. 
'•■Yes, yes; I'll go,''^ was the quick reply, 
"And find Old Moseby — at least I'll try." 

He rode swift away, but all too soon 
Found Mosby's men by the old Bull Run 
And beat a retreat toward an open wood — 
They fired, but ne'er was their' aiming good. 

Into the woods while the foe came on 

He rode, but ere half a mile had gone 

Two Confed'rate c^otains were met on the way, 

And with them rode black-eyed Marion Gray. 

Complete surprise— in that sudden rush — 
They met in a clump of underbrush ; 
A pistol aimed direct at his head 
Is fired — but the fugitive is not dead. 

It was just in time that Marion Gray 
With her own hand turned the shot away. 
At risk of her life she caught the arm 
Raised there to inflict the fatal harm. 

In a moment the Union scout was gone, 
For pursuers had still been riding on; 



242 MOSS AGATES. 

He escaped, and pointed his captain where 
He could find Old Moseb}^ "just over there." 

There on that hill where the soldier rode 
Was in war time Marion Gray's abode; 
But in exile at last from war's hot breath 
She fled farther south, where she sank in death. 

When the war was o'er — 'twas her last request — 
They brought her back ; she was laid at rest 
There on the hill by her childhood home 
To sleep 'til the morning of life shall come. 

And in visions and dreams There's a horseman still 
Who sometimes rides on that far off hill — 
Should he ever be met on his listless way 
'Twill be by the grave of Marion Gray. 



THE CHILDREN. 



OTAKE the children to your heart — 
These Uttle ones who play their part 
In giving to this life its bright, 
Enduring ray of summer light. 

As sunbeams come with morn of day 
And drive the mist and clouds away, 
So come the children sweet and fair 
To scatter blessings everywhere. 

And while the old with wasted years 
Are but His own unwilling tears 
Which tend but to enrich the sod, 
Yet children are the smiles of God. 



244 ^<^SS AGATES. 



THE CHEYENNE SUN. 



IT shines on river, hill and plain — 
Its rays extend e'en to the main ; 
And in the ways of justice, truth — 
The paths that lead to solid worth — 
'Twill ever the whole column lead 
And hope inspire when hope is dead. 

It has a mission to fulfill, 
And principles to e'er instill 
Into the oft unwilling mind 
Of people; and to look and find 
The best way to do this or that, 
Or learn what men are driving at — 
This is a work that's being done 
Faithfully by The Cheyenne Si^n, 



BABY TOWSE. 



TO see sweet, handsome Baby Towse 
I called at the parental house. 
Said I : " Dear little one, with you 
I called to have an interview." 

W^HAT BABY SAID. 

Pm dest a 'ittle baby, 

And pitty tute, you know. 

Lez ze, wat ist a tal! me — 
W'y, 'ittle Baby "Flo." 

Tha say I'se dest as petty 

As ever I tan be. 
Pa sez in all 'e sitty 

Ain't a baby 'ike as me. 
He 'inks I 'ook 'ike 'im, he sez, 

But I dess I no w'y ; 
'Tis dest tos I am pitty is 

He 'inks he 'ooks 'ike I. 



246 MOSS AGATES. 



G 



TWO LITTLE BOYS. 

GLOVER CARROLL. 

LOVER CARROLL, a fine young boy- 
His father's pride, his mother's joy- 
Is here, and sheds a beam of Hght 
In the little home that e'er was bright; 
While John F. Carroll, the father, says 
People will have to mend their ways — 
"Don't call me Johnnie; for, mind you, sir, 
I'm Father Carroll, the editor." 



LITTLE MARK CHAPMAN. 

T ITTLE MARK oftimes will come 
1j And visit me in my court-room. 
He asks if soon, or if not, when 
Theie's going to be with me "much men 



55 



He's happy and we chat away — 

We have what might be termed a "lark," 

Me and my "partner," Little Mark. 



CUSTER AND THE THREE HUN- 
DRED. 



GALLANTLY, gallantly rode the Three Hun- 
dred 
That day on the trail of the treacherous foe ; 
Far o'er the wide plain their swift tramping thun- 
dered 
And their carbines gleamed bright in the morn- 
ing sun's glow. 

Caring they naught for the red man's ambuscade, 
Forward they swept to the shrill bugle's sign; 

Custer to lead them and each trooper undismayed, 
On toward the foe went the grim battle line. 

Onward, like clouds by the hurricane sundered 
When it darkens and shadows the horizon's bar, 

Gallantly, gallantly rode the three hundred — 
Out through the air broke their ringing huzzah. 



248 MOSS AGATES. 

Sec! they are nearing the haunts of the enemy; 

Clamoring, thundering onward and grand 
Ride the Three Hundred with brave Custer, gal- 
lantly 

Down on the foes of the wide Border Land. 

Smitten, the front of the red devil foemen 

Now cowers and shrinks from their terrible 
dash — 
Galloping onward and shouting like madmen, 
Right over great groups of the warriors they 
crash. 

But the hosts of the enemy gather to battle 

And fierce are the blows that are given and sent. 

O! list to the yells and the musketry's rattle — 
For demons their rage to the conflict have lent. 

Bravely they battle — that noble Three Hundred — 
Nor falter nor shrink from the terrible fray. 

Little they care whether sombody blundered — 
'Tis vict'ry or death shall the penalty pay. 

Now by the hosts of the red men enshrouded 
The gallant Three Hundred are battling for life; 

No arm to the rescue, nor succor afforded 
As victims thev fall to the bullet and knife. 



CUSTER AND THE THREE HUNDRED. 249 

"Strike on, my brave boys!" cries the voice of 
their leader; 
"Strike the red demons! be brave in the fight! 
Though we fall in this far distant land of the bor- 
der 
Our nanus shall survive us, unclouded and 
bright." 

Rallied again at the voice of their leader 

'Mid the shrieks of the foemen so piercing and 
shrill. 
They strike — but alas falls the brave, Gallant Cus- 
ter — 
The voice of the hero forever is still. 

Angels in Heaven the curtain drop downv^ard 
And hide from our vision the tragical end ; 

No more shall the gallant Three Hundred ride on- 
ward 
For death to each hero its arrow shall send. 

Fainter the sounds and the musketry's murmur. 
Like the dash of the waves on a surf beaten 
shore — 

Mingled in death lie the horseman and charger — 
The last one has fallen, the battle is o'er. 

O, glory and fame at the Pass of Thermopylae, 
Or where the " Six Hundred " rode onward in 
vain. 



250 MOSS AGATES. 

Thy unfading chaplet was purchased, and val- 
iently— 
Honor, both monuments raised to the slain. 

Still grander the deeds of the noble Three Hun- 
dred 
Who rode that day onward so bravely and well; 
Who fell where the roar of the battle storm thun- 
dered 
And died on the field where the brave Custer fell. 

Back from the field that was crimson and battle-lit 
Rides there no horseman, nor trooper or knight. 

Sound not the bugle, they never shall hear it; 
This is their last sleep, ne'er again shall they 

fight. 

Brave, gallant "Old Seventh," long tried and 

heroic ; 
How shattered your ranks that have stood on 

the field 
In fame's broad arena, immortal, historic, 
Our country and flag from rebellion to shield. 

Survivors! you fain would have rode to the rescue. 
That gallant Three Hundred to succor and save, 



CUSTER AND THE THREE HUNDRED. 25 I 

Though death's trying wave might enshroud and 
roll o'er you^ — * 
Though all might have slept in the gloom of 
the grave. 

To her who in sadness shall weep for the hero 
And mourns the companion who comes not 
again : 

To-day and with you does the whole nation sorrow 
And weep o'er the fate of the brave Custer slain. 

He dies — but 'tis rest while the bleak winds are 
raving 

Here on the lea with its willows and sands — 
Unbroken the peace where the waters are laving 

The bright river shores in the Orient lands. 

Ye slumbering martyrs, sleep ! Sleep on forever! 

The sweep of the winds shall your requiem sigh. 
Forgotten by us be the story? No, never! 

The record shall live though the hero may die. 

Yet oft in our dreams we a phantom Three Hun- 
dred 
Can see on the shore that is over the tide; 
And there and as when the loud battle storm thun- 
dered. 
Right onward, still onward, forever to ride. 



252 MOSS AGATES. 



A NEW YEAR'S VISION. 



T FOLLOWED the hearse of " Eighty-three" 
[ To the vale where dashes the stream of Time? 
Down to the shore of the waveless sea 

That Hes between us and the sunny clime. 

Its corroded casket was laid away 

In God's receptacle — slumbering past — 

To come no more for a single day, 
Faded and dead and gone at last. 

I journeyed back on its beaten trail 

In visions that rose on my troubled view, 

While wandering on through the willowed vale 
Where the withered flowers of hope once grew. 

Deserted homesteads and ruined shrines — 
Ruined by Time's relentless hand — 

Were there, and its progress was marked by lines 
In its stately march to the far off land. 



A NEW YEAR S VISION. 253 

And scattered along in its pathway wide 

Were the graves of victims to man's untruth; 

The friend, the companion, the 'fair young bride. 
The tottering old and the blooming youth. 

And the tomb of the mother with silvered hair, 
Who wept o'er the fate of her wayward boy 

'Til the grim, pale harvester met her there. 
Whispering, " Rest," which the saints enjoy. 

And a desolate mound by the path I see 

Where no roses bloom and no willows wave; 

He fell in the simoon of Eighty-three — 

This neglected spot is the drunkard's grave. 

In the march of the year now past and gone 
Millions I saw that had gone before. 

Gathered to mystery one by one 

To mingle with us on this earth no more. 

The hopes that were bright in the times gone by 
Lay scattered around by a pois'nous breath 

That darkened the light of a sunny sky, 
And to mem'ry naught but a living death. 

But peaceful pictures of prosp'rous days 
And the glad fruition of hopes fulfilled, 



254 MOSS AGATES. 

Lighted the gloom with a cheerful blaze 
And the sombre cloud wore a golden gild. 

I stand by the cradle of Eighty-four, 
The cradle that just begins to rock, 
And look far away from this twilight shore 
■ And list to the ticking of Time's old clock. 

And I see on its-storm beat dial plate 

The fingers of Time as they slowly move 

Toward eternity's silent, unventured gate, 
Circling past each section, groove. 

And a murmuring sound falls on my ear 

While a numberless throng goes surging by. 

Beginning the march of the coming year, 
The curtained future again to try. 

The young look forward, the old look back. 
While they silently pass as in review; 

Leaving behind the well-worn track, 

They pass from the old to the untried new. 

Though flowers shall bloom by the path of some. 
Yet Inany shall falter to march no more. 

And gather to rest in their final home 
In Eighteen Hundred and Eighty-four. 



ERRATA. 



Page 139, in the second line of the third verse, 
read "while then" instead of "when these," and 
the word "when" in third line of same verse 
should be omitted. 

On page 186 read "Sanders" instead of " Saiich- 
crs." 

On page 213 in tenth line from top of page 
read "Moshier" instead of " Mosbrier." 

Other errors exist for which the author assumes 
all the blame. 



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